Next of Kin
by ApollinaV
Summary: Severus is remanded into Hermione's custody because she is his next of kin. This news startles both of them. Complete.
1. Chapter 1 Relation

Dedication: To** mischievous_t**, entirely; this is absolutely her story and plotline. Thank you, for your guidance, presence and vision.

Additional thanks: This story was written as a collaborative effort. Much thanks and praise must be given to the beautiful girls of House Hufflepuff for their tireless work to bring it to fruition.

**Christev**: powerhouse beta-extraordinaire, who sent beta-notes from her hospital bed.

**Morethansirius**: wünderkind alpha-reader, who breathed such life and energy into the story.

_**Want to Listen to the story? ** _**Lastseeninorbit** is recording it on her youtube channel.

Many profound thanks to her for her help in making the story accessible to everyone.

* * *

**Next of Kin.**

**Chapter 1 - Relation**

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, gobsmacked.

"You're listed as the next of kin, ma'am," the Ministry stooge behind the glass window dully repeated.

Hermione's fist squeezed around the crumpled Ministry summons. Her weekend plans revolved around bowls of cereal, her favorite pajamas, a trashy romance novel and catching up on some research for work. Receiving the news that her presence was _required_ at the Office of Ministry Justice (there was a lark), and at seven thirty no less, had been quite unwelcome.

Learning she was only there on Severus Snape's behalf was just the cherry on top.

"I'm the next of kin." The news sank like a stone.

"That's what the paperwork here says," the apathetic administrator noted, holding up a rather thick file. It might have been earth-shattering news to Hermione, but for the files clerk - his eyes darting to the rather long line forming behind her - he just needed to move her along. Azkaban Prison was cleaning house and sixty-odd inmates were scheduled to be released.

"Sign here."

Paperwork was pushed in front of her.

"There must be a mistake," Hermione protested. "I'm not related to him."

It's not that she really had much against the maligned war hero – she'd testified on his behalf once. He'd also been a competent professor and decent enough conversationalist on the rare occasions when he deigned her worthy enough to speak to. But a _fan_ of Snape – no, she couldn't claim that title. Hermione didn't hero-worship him like Harry, and on the whole she felt rather ambivalent towards his plight.

He'd been acquitted of murder and a whole slew of rather serious charges, but convicted of a lesser crime –_ failing to register his ability to fly_ – a charge similar to failure to register as an Animagus. While most people were able to talk their way out of the misdemeanor, especially if they greased the right palms, the defense, _Voldemort wouldn't let me,_ just didn't strike the right note with the Wizengamot. And well, that was justice served.

"There's no way I can be his next of kin." Hermione pushed the parchments back to the clerk, refusing to sign.

"Look Miss, just sign them." The room was filling with impatient families. He knew from experience that the longer it took to process the releases, the greater the odds increased that babies would start crying. "If there's no one to sign for him, he can't be released. But Azkaban can't hold prisoners forever. You want we should petition him for euthanasia?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

It worked every time.

She hastily scribbled her name on the release forms and shuffled off to the next waiting room.

The plain room was filled with uncomfortable chairs arranged in efficient rows. She found a seat and scanned the small gathering there. Some children played with toy wands while a nervous-looking young mother tried to keep them quiet. An older woman with silver hair that matched the shade of the yarn she was knitting seemed perfectly calm, except for the slight tremble in her lips. Hermione wondered how long she had waited for the release of a loved one. Two men, presumably brothers, sat tense and very much on edge. Hermione thought they bore close enough resemblance to Gregory Goyle to be family.

And there she was, thoroughly indifferent to her prisoner. Waiting impatiently for a man she barely knew and had no desire to be reunited with. How the hell was she the next of kin for Severus Snape?

Hermione racked her mind for what little personal information she knew about the man. He was a half-blood. Was it possible that she shared a blood relation on the Muggle side? Would that possibly explain why she manifested magic? A recessive gene? No, that didn't even make sense. Aside from which, he was a Northerner. Hermione didn't have family in the North. She had a great uncle who once sought his fortune up there. Was it possible they had a distant relation in common?

Unconsciously, Hermione shook her head.

Two hours later, the room had filled with more eager and emotional families. They whispered amongst themselves and traded stories of happier times. Some checked their timepieces anticipating the moment of reunion. Hermione looked at her watch, wondering how much more of her weekend she had to sacrifice and lamenting her decision not to bring her books with her, but then she was told she only had to be there to sign a few papers. Trust the Ministry to make signing papers an all day affair.

The furthest door opened and several people sat up. Hermione could hear clamor and clanking sounds coming from an echoing hallway.

"Clear the way!" an Auror boomed.

He led a small procession of emaciated prisoners linked together in chains, and a wail went up from several women.

As the first line of prisoners moved through, some people packed up and followed them out the door.

"Clear the way," another Auror shouted as another line of prisoners appeared in the doorway.

Hermione made a moue of disgust. On the rare occasion that she had reason to visit the fetid prison, the conditions appalled her. Cells were tiny and prisoners were packed in, though Hermione thought their body heat probably created more warmth than the insufficient rags they wore. The prison reeked of fish and seawater, and as the second line of haggard prisoners clanked and lumbered past her, Hermione's nostrils were filled with the revolting stench.

Personally, she thought that it was an outrage that Azkaban still existed. It was a scandalous throwback to the appalling institutions of the industrial revolution and had no place in a modern society, but then it was just another example in which the wizarding world was backwards and antiquated. Another Auror marched in a line of shackled inmates. To Hermione's relief, they appeared better fed and seemed to manage basic grooming. The vacant faraway look was still in their eyes, but Hermione held out hope that with some coaxing they might manage to adjust.

Line after line of inmates paraded past and receiving family members dwindled. The condition of the prisoners improved. It seemed as if the first to be released were the worst of the lot, possibly those who'd been incarcerated the longest. Snape had only been in prison for six years. In wizarding terms that was hardly any time at all – a minor inconvenience to people who lived well past a century.

Hermione glanced at her watch as her stomach rumbled. Beneath her breath she cursed him for not being in one of the first groups. Mentally she recounted that she just needed to escort him out of the building, and then she could be on her way.

"Clear the way!" an Auror shouted, despite the fact that most of the waiting room was empty.

Hermione watched with keen interest the slumped shoulders and hung heads of the inmates that shuffled into the room, her eyes on the lookout for a man she might recognize as Snape.

Of course. He was the very last prisoner. How like Snape to make an entrance.

Recognizing him was not a problem. Every prisoner looked beaten in spirit and body, with unfocused eyes and hobbled gait.

Not Severus Snape.

Other than being dressed in drab grey, Hermione didn't think he appeared any different from when she'd seen him last. The jagged pink scar on his neck was the only bit of color on his black and white person. He wasn't dragging his body of bones about him like the rest of the men. Tall, angular, and fierce, Severus Snape projected an unbroken spirit and walked in precisely measured steps – his gait halted only by the length of chain wrapped about his ankles.

Hermione's eyes were drawn to his knuckles. They protruded against the taut skin as if he was ready – at any moment – to strike.

Immediately she decided. She was going to escort him out to Diagon Alley, wish him well and Apparate away. She had more important worries than Severus Snape.

Hermione got up with the other family members and followed the procession into the next processing room. Here small desks were assembled with bustling clerks assigned to each prisoner. Snape was brought to the desk of a peevish looking young man who seemed to be hyperventilating just a bit. As Snape's chains were removed the clerk visibly gulped. Hermione appeared at Snape's shoulder, and the clerk seemed relieved to have her as a buffer.

Snape merely lifted his eyebrow. Hermione shook her head as if to answer his questioning eyebrow, 'Don't ask.'

"If you don't remember me from class sir, I'm Mister Newman. You failed me during my third year."

"Yes, and if it hadn't been for your Head of House, you'd have been expelled. Now get on with it, boy."

"Oh – right," the clerk nervously cleared his throat. "Congratulations on your release. I have some paperwork you both need to sign and fill out. Where you intend to live, how you intend to support yourself, as well as a promise not to recidivate."

Snape pulled a sour face. "And just how would I recidivate – you already know I can fly."

Newman looked helpless and flapped about.

"You could always go back to prison if you don't like it," Hermione suggested, taking her cue from the tactics of the earlier clerk.

Snape glared at her for interfering.

Hermione ignored him in favor of flipping through the paperwork she needed to sign. Again it listed her as the next of kin. She didn't get that, but it stated clearly she was, and in small print on page two it said: 'related by way of marriage.'

Well, there it was.

Some distant relative of her was a distant relative by marriage to him. As she casually flipped through the obscure contract, Snape poured over it obsessively, rapidly firing off questions at the clerk.

Yes, some of the promises were vow-bound.

No, the clerk didn't know which ones.

Snape refused to sign anything without clear answers on which promises were vow-bound. Hermione glanced piteously at her watch; the whole day had gone to pot.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Hermione hissed at him as Newman tottered off to find his supervisor. "Just sign the papers so we can leave."

"I don't recall asking you to be here," Snape snarked. "And I refuse to _vow_ anything the Ministry hands me without investigating it first." Snape's brow furrowed up. "Just why are you here, Miss Granger? Where's Minerva?"

Hermione gave a longsuffering sigh, blowing an errant curl from her face.

"Supposedly I'm your next of kin – we're family."

"Impossible."

"Improbable," she pointed out. "I don't think it's likely either, but that's what their paperwork says, and they're hell-bent on it." Hermione flipped to the small print on page two and pointed it out to his surprise. "Apparently we share some distant relative."

"So, you are my kinfolk - oh, goodie." He surveyed her up and down slowly, those hawkish black eyes inspecting every detail of her body. "Of course, the family resemblance between us is overwhelming."

She snorted.

"It bears investigating," he said pensively.

"In case you ever need a kidney transplant?"

"Something like that."

Newman returned with his supervisor. Their conversation was fairly short. The contractual terms of his release were completely standard and absolutely straightforward: take it or leave it. The Aurors were standing by to escort him back to Azkaban if need be. Snape signed.

He confirmed he had a home to go to and a form of employment to sustain him or someone who would provide for him. Miss Granger was made to sign her part, affirming that he was being remitted to her custody. She signed with wholly too much flourish, with extra-loopy swoops that mocked him. His caretaker? Really!

A bundle containing his wand and the robes he wore to his trial was unceremoniously shoved in his hands. As Hermione had already signed her portion, she was ready to bid him adieu and put space between herself and the dour wizard, but she waited patiently while he changed in the men's room.

He emerged looking as if he'd been under the weather for a few weeks, but otherwise no worse for the wear. Anyone not paying attention to the newspapers wouldn't have known he had been incarcerated.

In the Ministry foyer they parted, Hermione offering him a polite, "Welcome back," and Snape acknowledging the piss-poor attempt at a hero's homecoming with a nod.

She returned home, greeting Crooksy, and had a bowl of cereal, then shared the dregs of milk with the fat tom.

Where Snape returned to, she didn't know.

* * *

_Fit and trim in her maturation,_

_Granger'd improved since graduation._

_She was so headstrong._

_It was a turn on._

_Too bad that she was a relation._


	2. Chapter 2 Gold

**Chapter Two - Gold**

* * *

There hadn't been a single Galleon in his pocket when he'd been taken into Ministry custody. What was the point? The guards would only accidentally misplace anything of value on his person. Yet, as he changed in the furthest stall of the men's loo, his pockets were stuffed with coins. Pocket money. Not enough to get by on – that would smack too obviously of charity – but some coins to cover a few expenses that Severus wouldn't feel guilty about accepting.

Obviously the boy had been by.

Harry.

Were he on better terms as a man, he might have scoffed at taking anything that looked like charity, but Severus was thankful for the gold. When Harry had first appeared at his jail cell, Severus hadn't been in any position to refuse charity then, either. At first their agreement was cutthroat. In exchange for a few meager toiletries and defensive warding, Severus only had to bleed out every memory and emotion of his entire lifetime in enough nauseating detail to satisfy the boy's insatiable curiosity.

Yet, somewhere between the lengthy discussion of Bellatrix's upbringing and her cousin Sirius' similar psychotic breaks, the dynamic began to shift. Oh, Harry still visited, crouching on a small stool just outside his door with his rations in a paper sack, but it was different. Something had changed. The boy could accept that his godfather wasn't saintly, the world was neither black nor white, and they both began to look at their shared history a bit more objectively.

History put life into context and perspective. Without knowing the background and relationships of the people in the Order and the Death Eaters, they were just two opposing factions. The Light and the Dark. The good and the bad. The truth was much murkier, but then civil wars that split families and the whole fabric of society often were.

Once their friendship was established, Severus was stunned to learn what the full force of Gryffindor chumminess entailed, but was cunning enough to keep his damned mouth shut and let Potter work his charm and magic. Within Azkaban, Severus was promoted to the position of the Prison Potioneer, a position that had not been inhabited in more than forty years. Severus kept the ill-stocked infirmary running and the bedraggled and oft-beaten inmates mostly alive. In exchange he slept on a cot in his own laboratory and took his own meals, and in the months before he left, he trained three life-convicted inmates to run the laboratory to his exacting standards.

When Severus emerged from the loo, he was surprised to note Miss Granger was still there. Although she appeared vaguely uncomfortable, he could see that the girl had matured into a proper witch. Still, had he been a betting man, Severus would have dropped gold that any kin of his would have abandoned him as soon as possible – it was a Snape family tradition.

As they headed down to the Atrium, he continued to observe her, comparing what he could of her bone structure to the few photographs of distant relations he'd seen. She didn't look like a Snape or a Prince. Her nose was too petite, neither Roman nor upturned. Her mousy brown hair, though tame in comparison to her youth, was thick and full of curls. There wasn't a Snape or Prince that had so much as a single curl on their greasy flat heads. Her eyes were warm, her complexion freckled, her bone structure average, and her lips were full. And though she wasn't a striking beauty, the witch was attractive.

She was of no relation to him, that was for damn certain.

Until other revelations presented themselves, Miss Granger was a mystery, and he parted company with her as quickly as he could.

Out of habit and nagging suspicion, Severus Floo'd three times and Apparated twice before finally settling in front of two very large and well-maintained Victorian homes. Their fences were both festooned with roses in full bloom, white and pink, respectively. He was not, however, interested in those residences.

An image took shape in his mind, of a stately old painted lady – minus most of the paint, as it had peeled away many years before. As he opened his eyes, it stood before him, the blight of the white-washed neighborhood, but containing a solitary charm of its own. The gate clicked open immediately, and the manicured Devil's Snare hedgerow shivered at him, but held back its carnivorous vines.

With one smart rap on the brass knocker, an elf ushered him in and set several locking charms the moment the door shut. Before Severus could be shown the parlor, his host appeared at the top of the stairs.

"So you're alive then," his hostess said, bustling down the stairs. "Let me get a good look at you."

Severus held still until she was finished with her critical inspection of his person.

"You're not getting enough vitamins. I don't know what they fed you there, but you look right anemic. You should eat more spinach."

"I'll try, Madam," he said nodding his head. 'Try' was a word full of non-commitment.

"Madam?" she scoffed, looming at Severus, despite the fact he was much taller than she. "No doubt that horrid place has chipped away at your manners."

"My apologies, Augusta, I was uncertain of my welcome here."

"Bah! You're here, aren't you? That means you're welcome." She hurried off towards the back of the house, and Severus hastened after the older witch.

"I suspect you'll want your books now," she called over her shoulder in the library. "I had hoped Neville would take a look at some of them, and fill that head with some useful knowledge, but he wouldn't touch them."

Privately, Severus was relieved; Longbottom's Potions books were often coated in toad slime and smudged with Honeydukes' finest. "Actually, I'm just here for my cat. I'd like to take her home. I'll come by for my books later."

"Oh, Severus, you haven't heard," Augusta gave him a pitying look. "The Muggles, they've done the most awful thing. They've built some kind of an office building, a dreary one at that. I believe your house is now a car park. I'm so sorry."

His heart sank as the rug was pulled out from underneath him. Yes, Augusta had kindly kept his Hogwarts items, but what he needed was a home. He needed his home, some place to start a normal, stable, humdrum life. With as little drama as possible this time, please.

"You can, of course, stay in Neville's room for the time being. He will be back for the weekend; the boy always comes home to visit his Gran. But I'm certain Neville won't mind sharing until then."

Somehow Severus sincerely doubted Neville would approve, but he wasn't in the position to decline the offer, either. Potter's Galleons would only get him so far.

"Thank you, Augusta, I appreciate your generosity."

"Tut tut – it's not just for you, it's for poor Eileen's blessed memory. She was a fine witch and the best Gobstones player I ever taught. If only she could see you now," she clucked.

Augusta had been godmother to his mum, and until Severus had gone to Hogwarts, she was the only tangible link they'd had to wizarding society. As a boy, meat pies on the table meant Madam Longbottom had been visiting - and either his mum had a fat lip, or his da had been picked up by the authorities again.

Just then, his hellcat decided to investigate the visitor. Thick of grey fur, the huntress had earned a battle scar across one of her eyes, but was as keen a mouser as ever. When she recognized Severus, Ushanka lifted a paw and began to clean it.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, you miserable beast, come over here."

She meticulously cleaned every bit of her paw.

"It's going to be such a loss to have her go. You know we haven't seen a single garden gnome since she arrived. You could, of course, leave her here; we'd love to keep Ushi permanently. And ever since she and Neville declared peace, there's been less blood loss."

The cat walked over to him with a bloody swagger and sat.

"You know, you really are more trouble than you're worth," Severus said, picking her up. The moment she was in his arms though, Severus buried his face in her thick fur. It would blot the tears if they came, because he felt quite very near to crying. The part-kneazle rumbled a happy purr.

"I'll sort out some tea." Augusta bustled off, the sound of her heavy skirts rustling down the hallway.

Ushanka kneaded her razor sharp claws right into his fine wool robes. She shed absolutely everywhere, and grey cat hairs stood out on positively every color of fabric. The cat was a menace. Fickle in disposition. A picky eater. Thoroughly demanding. And the only real family he had.

Hermione Granger included.

"I missed you so much," he whispered into her neck ruff. She purred louder.

* * *

At one point in his life he might have cared that he was sleeping in Neville Longbottom's adolescent bed, but he'd endured so many insults to his dignity, this one hardly ranked. The bed was comfortable, warm, and clean, making it a welcome change. Ushanka draped herself over his chest protectively, and allowed him to periodically reach for her. The warmth of her fur and contented rumbling purr provided a peace he hadn't felt in years.

Sleep didn't come easily as his thoughts were consumed by a myriad of worries. Most troubling was his homelessness. The house had been little more than a shotgun hovel. When it was his primary residence, he stayed away rather than mope about in the cheerless place. But it held his lab – and without a lab, he had no livelihood. It set his plans back significantly.

He had sworn to the Ministry that he had a home to go to and a source of income as requirement of his release. He had very few friends, an understatement to be certain, but Severus did have friends. He wasn't anti-social, just choosy about who he socialized with. On one hand he could list the number of friends who would probably still talk to him, but he had no idea if any of them would take him in.

Minerva had a penchant for taking in strays, but that relationship wasn't bound to last. The catfights would be epic.

Harry might be good for a night or two, but Ginny was expecting another child. Severus would quickly become an inconvenience.

Lucius wouldn't have it. When they'd been awaiting trial together, Lucius had made it perfectly clear – he had turned over a new leaf in life, and had become a thoroughly reformed wizard. That meant that neither he nor anyone in his family consorted with the likes of Death Eaters. Despite being considered a hero by some, namely Harry Potter (_the bravest man he ever knew_ – Severus mentally snorted), he had become just another liability to Lucius' image. And that was that.

Augusta wouldn't turn a man out for the night, but her offer had been conditional. When Neville came home, Severus would have to leave. He would be homeless and in violation of his contract.

Would the Aurors come for him? Haul him back to Azkaban?

Unconsciously his eyes darted across the unfamiliar room, peering into shadows as his fears took form. There had been a time when his boggart had been a werewolf – silly in hindsight. He'd faced werewolves; they fell to his wand with ease.

It was the Aurors he couldn't take. They overwhelmed and outnumbered him, shackling him with bureaucracy and paperwork, stealing his freedom and self worth. The unmerciful arms of Ministry justice were more damning than the soul-sucking Dementors they employed.

Sometimes, when niggling doubt crept in, he wondered if he had backed the wrong horse. Albus had given him overcrowded classrooms and mediocrity; Lord Voldemort had rewarded him with status and promised great fortunes. Instead of serving in heaven, he could have been ruling in hell. He could have done it too, a quiet word to Potter and the fate of the entire war could have changed directions. Severus never gave voice to that thought. He'd be re-branded a Death Eater and his fate would be sealed. At the moment he was being given a second chance, small as it was, and he was determined to seize it with both fists.

Before drifting off, his thoughts briefly turned to Hermione Granger. He had many more pressing headaches to worry about than a curious family connection. Though if she were kin, it was a shame; she had turned into quite a worthy witch. And unlike most of the inbred wizarding gentry, he had no desire to kiss a cousin.

* * *

_He left Azkaban feeling too old,_

_With his only robes reeking of mould._

_The color was right,_

_The color of night,_

_And his pockets stuffed with Potter gold._


	3. Chapter 3 Files

**Chapter Three - Files**

It was Wednesday; work had been absolutely knackering, so Hermione was celebrating Hump Day with Sebastian and a glass of chilled white.

Sebastian was tall and well built, and the author spent an enormous amount of time discussing his muscles, describing them as 'glistening' on every other page. Hermione skipped past that part and focused on the heroine. She was young, brilliant, and had a sassy attitude that Hermione appreciated. An art student who just started selling her canvases for big money, the heroine, Felicity, was poised to move into the fast-paced world of international modern art.

Felicity thought that was what she wanted – the unattached life of an acclaimed jet-setting artist, until she found herself drawn to the poet's soul of Sebastian, one of her naked male models. Hermione was betting Felicity was going to re-prioritize her life and give up her dream of traveling to settle down with the brooding and 'deep' Sebastian. If it weren't for the hot and steamy sex scenes, Hermione would have thrown the romance novel into the trash. If the novel ended with Felicity finding fulfillment as an unappreciated housewife to an emotionally damaged Adonis, she was going to burn it. Sebastian had his hands under Felicity's shirt, and she could feel his_ 'turgid rod of manhood pulsing firmly against her jean-clad curvy thigh'_ when there was a pounding on Hermione's door.

"Damn it!" Hermione fumed, hastily stashing the cheap bodice-ripper between the cushions of her couch. She had only just gotten home from work and was looking to unwind from the day. If it was Ron again, she was going to hex him. Wait – she'd taken him off the wards. So who was at the door? A frown wrinkled her forehead.

Whoever it was, they were in a foul mood, pounding forcefully on her door. Hermione grabbed her wand.

"Granger!"

Hermione paused, her hand on the doorknob. Snape? What on earth was he doing at her flat? Moreover, how the devil did he know where she lived? Hermione purposely lived 'off the grid' and in a class-three, undetectable location. Only four people knew where she lived and not even her parents had access to her address. But how'd he get through her impenetrable wards? She hadn't even felt them so much as waver.

She pulled the door open, her wand out first in warning, her other hand still on the knob in case she needed to slam it in his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape spat, thrusting a parchment at her.

"You know, it's impossible to read that with you waving it at me."

She watched his teeth grind together as he handed it to her. Hermione wasn't inclined to open her door wider. It was perhaps a bit uncharitable, but she had a firm policy against allowing misbehaving jackasses into her flat – which was why Ron wasn't allowed over. Or at least Ron wouldn't be allowed for another two weeks. By her internal calendar, that was how much longer it would take before he'd come to his senses and apologize.

Snape pushed his way past her as she read and stalked her sitting room, treading the carpet like a prowling tiger.

Her brows knit together as she read over the Gringotts document.

"You can't make a withdrawal without me?" she summarized. "I'm a co-owner on your account."

"It would appear that I require your signature to move _my_ account from its inactive status to an active status."

"That makes no sense to me," she said, bewildered.

Snape's lips were puckered. "It's a joint account, between me and my next of kin."

Hermione scanned hastily through the document. The vault belonging to Severus Snape had automatically been placed in inactive status when he was incarcerated. As changing it back was not a routine request, it required her consent. If Hermione understood the paperwork correctly, she had full access to his accounts by their bloodline connection because she was his…

Next of Kin. There was that phrase again.

"I don't understand," Hermione whispered.

"Then it looks like we need to find out. Preferably now."

Hermione glanced down at her baggy jumper and sleep shorts. Bugger. She had just walked through the door and managed to put on comfy clothes. If they were going to make it to the Ministry Records division before it closed, she was going to have to put robes on.

"I'll need to get dressed," she muttered.

"Sign first." He pointed forcefully at the Gringotts vault document in her hand and Hermione nodded.

A quick rummage produced a quill and inkpot. She hastily signed and watched as the document furled up on itself in a golden light and popped out of sight. Glancing from the corner of her eye, she noticed his sigh of relief.

With ill-grace, Hermione moved past him to her bedroom and hastily threw on her professional clothes.

Snape raised an eyebrow – was it just her or did it look like an appreciative eyebrow?

'Down, girl,' Hermione thought.

With an extra helping of Floo powder for Snape, she called out her destination.

The march to Ministry Records was terse and only punctuated by the sickly sweet voice of the lift announcing their descent. In the lowest sub-basement of the sprawling Ministry complex was the Records Division. They were greeted by a young woman who had prematurely aged far beyond her years.

"It seems the Ministry employs Dementors here as well," Snape muttered after sending the clerk tottering off after his requested records.

"Working here will do that to you," Hermione responded.

When she graduated, Hermione had taken a short summer internship at the Ministry to gain much needed experience for her Curriculum Vitae. That singular experience did more to convince her to take on an Apprenticeship than all of the counseling sessions with her Head of House. In one short summer, all of her dreams of working towards house-elf rights within the Regulation of Magical Creatures division were stamped under the foot of bureaucratic reality. Oh, dear gods, Hermione realized with a start, the nameless bedraggled clerk was Tracey Davis.

Poor thing.

They'd requested their personal files and cross-referenced it with genealogy papers. Tracey returned with a fully loaded squeaking cart pulled behind her.

"There's too much to sort through," Hermione bemoaned, flipping through her third fat folder.

Each folder was stuffed with handwritten Ministry notes that followed her wizarding career exploits, shuffled in a nonsensical pattern. The Big Brother state kept records on her every movement, no matter how tedious. "They can't possibly need all this information."

She eyed the results of her last pap smear in askance. It was included with an updated report on her fertility and reproductive likelihood penned by a C. Travers who tracked ink over half the document. Lovely. Somewhere, C. Travers knew more information about her uterus than she did.

"As much as it would please me to say this is 'make work' for people, they do actually review this information. Nothing is more important to them than bloodlines."

Whereas Hermione had started with the initial entries of her childhood, he'd started at the beginning of the records timeline. Severus scrolled through lineage charts so detailed, the College of Arms would have been jealous. They both shared progenitors who'd been decried as roundheads; otherwise he couldn't find a connection in his cursory examination. Though sorting through centuries of history would take a significant investment in time.

Tracey wheeled in another cart. "School records," she mumbled, unloading an armful of folders.

"I just don't see how we can be next of kin," Hermione stated. "We have nothing in common."

"You're married," Tracey mumbled, dragging the cart behind her.

Severus' head shot up, Hermione gasped.

"Miss Davis, repeat that," Severus ordered.

She owlishly blinked and slowly repeated, "You're married. The paperwork arrived just a bit ago when you both signed a contract acknowledging your responsibility to each other, and we're closing in a half hour," before shuffling off.

They both reached for the newer folders at the same time. Severus quickly flipped through and discarded the records of his incarceration and release. Hermione breezed her way passed descriptions of heroism and 'grievous disruption to the fabric of wizarding society' that included a picture of one lonely, wayward Gringotts dragon.

Sorting together through the random assortment of documents thrown into file folders without any thought to organization or relevancy, they both stumbled at the same time upon a parchment with the singular title of, _Betrothal_.

Hermione's hands were clammy and shaking, so she stared over his shoulder as Snape began to read. The language was archaic, belonging to another time, and certainly not how she would choose to write a betrothal – hers or otherwise. Hermione strongly suspected that if a quill and bottle of red ink presented itself, they'd fight over who got to correct it. She read on, scanning for a clue – something, anything – that made sense.

At the end she found it. The final paragraph's notation stated the parties hitherto had been entered into such contract on the consent of their legal guardians.

"I think," he said tersely, "it's time for us to speak to the department head."

* * *

Mr. Rattle most certainly did not want to speak with either of them. It was bridge night and Agnes needed help setting up for their guests. There was five minutes left on his clock, and if Miss Davis hadn't stopped him in the hallway, he'd have been setting out mini-quiches instead of getting grilled by two thick-skulled minor celebrities. On the whole it was a simple matter that they, in particular the girl, failed to grasp.

"But I'm _single_," Hermione stressed. "I've never been married."

"You're married," Mr. Rattle repeated, for the third time.

"You keep saying that." Hermione whipped her head towards Snape. "Why does he keep saying that? We're not married. We would know if we were married, and clearly we aren't married."

Severus opened his hands in supplication, and focused his attention on the pertinent details.

Mr. Rattle sighed heavily. "I will admit, the contract of your betrothment is highly unusual in this day and age, although it was once fairly standard in arranged marriages. Your contract was signed by your legal guardian, in this case, both of you share the same guardian, Albus Dumbledore, who signed on your behalf."

Hermione was stunned silent. Severus appeared marginally bored.

"There was a time when I enjoyed the expression of befuddlement on people's faces when they learned they'd been well and truly shafted by the barmy old bastard," Severus muttered soto-voice. "This rather puts an end to that fun."

Mr. Rattle adjusted his reading glasses. "Further, your guardian attested that he officiated at your wedding. The marriage certificate has been witnessed and notarized by several prominent members of the Wizengamot as well as the International Confederation of Wizards, for which he also signed as the Supreme Mugwump. You are indeed married. By my math, last Thursday was your seventh year anniversary. Congratulations."

"But that _never_ happened!" Hermione railed.

"My dear, are you suggesting the esteemed members of the Wizengamot committed perjury?"

"I'm suggesting that Albus Dumbledore was a lying, malicious bastard! He wasn't some genius visionary leader – he made plans for us like a syphilitic drunkard. And you," Hermione pointed an accusatory finger at Snape. "How can you just sit there and take this?"

Severus glanced at the harridan blandly. "Shall I cry? Do you think that would help?"

"Could you do something other than just sit there? You don't even seem to care. Aren't you the least bit concerned that we were married – without our consent? _Us_ of all people. As if! The very notion is absurd."

"You forget I'm accustomed to being manipulated by Albus' whims. This is infinitely more pleasant than some of the other surprises he's dropped on me. If this is all he's done to you, consider yourself lucky."

"But I only gave him guardianship in case things went pear-shaped for the Order. He said it would be better since my parents are Muggles. It was only supposed to be in case of emergencies; I never authorized him to do this. Never!"

"More the fool you. At least you had a choice in accepting his guardianship. He required it of me."

"Yes, well, there it is," Mr. Rattle said, laying down their paperwork. He glanced at the clock and winced. Agnes would have his head if he didn't get home. "If you don't like the arrangements made on your behalf, I suggest you find a way to get un-married. Now, if you excuse me, this office is closed."

They were quickly shown the door as lights were turned off behind them. In the long lift ride Hermione massaged her temples. She needed to check in with work. And Ron wasn't going to like it at all. There was no way he'd understand, much less believe that she didn't know anything about the marriage.

"I suppose this means I get to claim you on taxes now," Snape muttered.

"Is that all you can think about at a time like this?"

"It's better than your fantasies of killing a man already dead," he said pointedly.

Hermione clenched her teeth and felt for her wand. "Don't you dare use Legilimency on me Snape!"

He chuckled humorlessly as the lift lurched to a stop. "If you want to keep your thoughts to yourself, I suggest you stop broadcasting them. Anyone can clearly read your expressions. You're an open book, dear wife."

"So you're actually pleased by this?" Hermione asked incredulously, following in step with the wizard as he made for the Floo queue at a quick pace.

Snape wheeled around, his demeanor thoroughly implacable. "Just because I'm not on the verge of wild hysterics like you does not mean I am pleased by this unfortunate development. But at the moment, I am disinclined to rant and rave like a lunatic." He sneered at her the same way he had for years when, as a child, she completed her assignments early. "Center yourself, witch, and get some perspective. This changes nothing between us. You and I will go our separate ways and that will be it. We are married on paper only, and not even in name."

Hermione drew herself up to full size, which didn't help much, given his height, but it made her feel marginally better. "That's it? We go our separate ways? It may be fine and dandy for you – you're a lifelong bachelor with no prospects for marriage. But I actually want to get married one day."

"To Weasley?" he asked, taking his place in the queue as workers rushed to put the Ministry far behind them. "No, you don't. If you wanted the Weasley whelp, you'd already have married the boy."

He'd asked of course. Four – no, five times. But Hermione hadn't been ready. They'd been too young. Too impulsive. Too soon after the war. Too soon after taking a new job. Far too busy with her important work. She didn't want to rush into marriage. Well, it was a bit late for that now.

"I have other love interests," she said indignantly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I could have other love interests." Hermione jutted out her chin stubbornly. The cute guy at her favorite coffee shop made hearts in her mocha foam. One day, after she learned his name and he got over his irrational fear of talking to her, they'd take marvelous trips around the world to view art and absorb culture together. Then they'd have three very gifted, well-behaved children with above average intelligence and darling names. They'd also form a choral group and go on highly acclaimed tours before eventually settling down to open a winery.

It could happen.

Snape only hummed non-committally.

* * *

A knock came softly on the door as Augusta appeared. "Dinner will be at eight, make sure you're presentable." Severus felt her keen eyes apprise the state of his hair, and he resolved to groom it thoroughly. Until other opportunities presented themselves, he needed to stay in her good graces. "Neville will be dining with us and he's brought his little lady friend," she added.

"And Severus, do behave."

Fuck.

The boy was back – there went his comfortable bed. If he asked nicely enough perhaps she'd allow him to temporarily transfigure the rattan in the conservatory into something, but it was a stretch. He was being turned out on his own for the night, like a cat dropped on a stoop.

At dinner, the clink of china had replaced the sound of stilted conversation soon after Neville's 'best girlie' Hannah Abbott enquired how he'd been for the last few years. It was apparent she didn't expect a rather truthful answer to the crass question. The silence lingered until the pudgy Hufflepuff couldn't take it any longer.

"I've perfected my Yorkshire pudding, and it sells out at the pub every night, Professor. You should really see the recipe; it's as long as some of your Potions instructions."

Somehow he genuinely doubted that. "It sounds delicious."

Hannah brightened considerably, and more importantly, Augusta looked pleased. The girl proceeded to natter on about her work and Severus was comforted to know that his hard won knowledge and expertise in the classroom had not been wasted on a student, as she had become an average barmaid – and thought herself something of a bit of a alcohol-alchemist. He supposed it was better than the other ninety percent of the little buggers he taught.

It was at a natural lull in conversation, as the main course was being cleared away, that dinner soured.

It was the perfect opportunity for someone with manners to say, 'my, what a delightful meal, my compliments to the cook.' He'd been poised to say just that, when the boy proudly spoke up.

"I killed your snake, Professor!"

Snake? What snake?

Dear gods.

Truthfully, Severus lost himself for a moment as blood drained away from him. He could see his hand perched on the damask tablecloth, clutching a silver spoon, and little else. Suspended infinitely in time, he couldn't fathom a response, nor articulate it from his parched throat. A phantom cage sat heavily on his shoulders – trapped.

He was trapped.

Couldn't run.

Couldn't escape… fangs reared up before him.

If he'd been a bit prepared, he might have had something poignant to say about it – a parting word for posterity, or a cutting remark for his own snake-like executioner. Something witty, perhaps. The sort of phrase that lived on and endured. If Bugs Bunny could manage, 'Goodbye, cruel world,' it would stand to figure that he could be arsed to say something meaningful.

Instead, he'd only thought, _Oh shit!_ before gasping for breath.

How disappointing, really.

"That's right," Hannah said enthusiastically from a long distance away. "He sliced his head clean off and killed it in one. It was amazing."

Severus attempted clearing his throat, an action that only seemed to cause his scar to throb. Unbelievably, he was able to hoarsely whisper a grateful, "thank you."

In a moment sound and sensation resumed, like an old gramophone suddenly starting up again, shocking and deafening in the wake of silence from before. He caught a satisfied look from his hostess and knew he'd done well in her eyes, but cared little for it.

In the end, it was just as he'd expected. Augusta kindly pushed a basket loaded with meat pies at him, and brusquely asked if he had everything that he'd packed. Neville and Hannah happily offered him a farewell, without realizing they were pushing him onto the streets. He was homeless, and Severus had lost his stomach to beg.

No, he wouldn't beg.

He'd been kicked. Kicked, and kicked, and kicked.

Severus was damned if he'd beg, though. He drew up the tattered remains of his self respect as he tightened his cloak around him, buffeting his narrow shoulders from the bracing wind.

* * *

_They had both traveled too many miles,_

_Shared the burden of wizarding trials._

_It was such a shame._

_Albus was to blame._

_They were married in Ministry files._


	4. Chapter 4 Tent

**Chapter Four - Tent**

She and Ron needed to talk – even though they were taking a short breather from their relationship, Ron deserved to be told. Hermione put quill to parchment, but it didn't matter what she wrote, or the tone she used; he'd likely interpret the message to mean 'I'm pregnant.' Regardless of how she broke the news, it was likely to end badly. At least, Arthur had suggested the Three Broomsticks.

_Ron,_  
_Can we talk - alone? I'm available tomorrow after work at the Three Broomsticks. _

_Let me know if that sounds good to you._  
_-H_

Hermione sighed and signaled for the rented owl. It would have to do.

A knock sounded at her door. While it shouldn't have been a surprise to her that it was Snape, when she glanced through the spyglass – it was. Happily surprised, actually, despite the late hour of the evening.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, opening the door wide. "We have a lot to talk about."

How odd, there was a cat tucked up beneath his arm. It leapt to the ground and sauntered towards the kitchen. Hermione frowned. Crooksy was very territorial and wouldn't take kindly to another cat scenting in his home – which didn't at all answer the question as to _why_ he'd brought a cat.

"I agree," Severus smoothly replied, removing his wand.

In a short series of swishes and flicks the cardboard boxes in his pocket re-sized themselves into the center of her living room.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

Severus rubbed his hands together. They felt gritty from the dust accumulation and hard work; he barely spared the witch a glance.

"Moving in. Or hadn't you heard, what's yours is mine. What's mine is yours."

It took Hermione more than a moment to recover, but watching him root around her kitchen helped her find her voice. "Wait – what happened to being married on paper only? You and I going our separate ways?" No. There was simply no way she could allow him to stay.

"You have no staple foods," he called from her icebox.

"I do, too. Milk and cereal. Two highly nutritious staple foods. And don't change the subject, Snape," she said moving behind his… well, his rather well-formed behind as it stuck out her icebox. Snape's arse looked much more appealing in tailored trousers than billowing robes. And she could admire it now, couldn't she? His sins were many. His personality was thoroughly lacking. And Hermione had no illusions about the man to whom she was currently married. But he had a nice looking arse. She could appreciate that at least.

"Circumstances have changed. Believe me when I say I'm only here out of necessity. I'll draw up a list of groceries for you to pick up when you're out."

Her back teeth gnashed together – a bad habit her parents had tried to break her of; it led to tooth sensitivity, muscle soreness, joint pain, and could, under extenuating conditions, crack a molar.

He frowned at her pantry.

"I'm going to need a better explanation than that. You may have gotten past my wards, but you're not welcome here yet, and I don't believe I've asked you to move in."

"Your wards won't keep me out," Snape said dismissively. The kitchen inspected, he brushed past her to the hallway. "Unless you modify, most warding allows family members to pass. We're family now. Or had that detail escaped you?"

Hermione bristled. She knew that, of course, not that it had ever occurred to her. She didn't have wizarding family. Hermione made a mental note to adjust her wards.

"That's the linen closet," she said with a sigh as he gave himself the grand tour.

"Obviously."

Snape found the second bedroom she used as a home office and looked over his shoulder in scorn. "This won't do."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

The other two doors led to her bedroom and bathroom, Snape inspected them with mild curiosity.

"Is that it then?" It was nearly smaller than Spinner's End, and that was saying quite a bit.

"That's all for the east wing. My humble apologies, but the west wing, servant's quarters, and guest house are being renovated."

"Cheeky witch." He glanced in the second bedroom. The Muggle gadgetry would have to be binned. Otherwise, it would be sufficient until he could find a place of his own. With some doing, he could perhaps manage to get most of his books unpacked – once he cleared her shelves. "I'll get my things," he muttered brushing past her.

Hermione had her wand out, shrinking the boxes back down to the size of small pebbles for transportation. She levitated them to her hand and dropped them into his palm. Severus was about to thank her for her assistance when she opened her front door and gestured with her hand for him to leave.

"Look, I try not to be rude to guests in my home, but this is twice now you've shown up unannounced and uninvited, and while I appreciate you coming here to point out the inadequacies of my flat and pantry, it's time you left. You're not welcome here. You're not moving in, and as far as I'm concerned, we're not married. So if you wouldn't mind, please leave."

Severus drew himself up to intimidate the diminutive witch.

"My apologies, Miss Granger – pardon me – Mrs. Snape. Perhaps I hadn't made myself clear. Circumstances have changed."

"Right. That explains nothing. And it means absolutely nothing to me."

There was a slight tic in his cheek as Snape stood his ground, silent, but obviously considering her words.

"Fine." His posture and bearing relaxed slightly. "I am at present homeless."

"I'm very sad to hear that. How unfortunate." She had not closed the door. Delightful arse or not, she would be glad to see him leave. "Did I not sign your Gringotts account – take care of yourself, Snape! You're a grown adult and not my problem."

"Damn and damn."

Hermione watched with trepidation as Severus Snape began to tread her carpet, prowling like a tiger caught in a cage. His wand was out as he rolled it reflexively, she wondered if she needed her own wand. He caught her eyes tracking the movements of it, and as if realizing for the first time he'd been brandishing it, he stowed it in his breast pocket with a look that could only be described as embarrassment.

Snape closed his eyes and stood before her tense, as if every muscle were pulled taut. "My Gringotts account is near empty," he said with his eyes closed as if he couldn't bear to witness her judgment. "I spent it all before the Final Battle."

"You spent it all?"

She watched his teeth grind – now probably wasn't the time for her parent's lecture on bruxism.

"I spent it on the Slytherin House Indigent Book Fund; not every pure-blood family is as fortunate as Potter's to have a vault full of gold. And the Ministry has a nasty habit of repatriating the vaults of Dark wizards upon their death."

"You expected to die," Hermione said blandly. She expected as much as well.

"Imagine my surprise." His lips twisted up cruelly. "I should have left more Galleons in there to pay for better defense counsel, but I didn't think I'd have the chance to need one," he muttered.

"Sounds like a bit of bad planning, but at least you're alive." She shrugged. "Call it a win in your favor and find a job."

"Dear wife, I don't believe you fully understand the contract you signed as my next of kin. I managed to read the fine print – did you?"

"What are you talking about?" she whispered.

"The stipulations of my release were that I avowed I had a home to go to and a form of support. I was remitted into your custody. Do you not recall that you were the guarantor of my contract? It's incumbent upon you to provide for my lodgings and sustainment. When the Aurors come to bring me back to Azkaban, I believe they'll bring you along, too."

Hermione tried to read his deadpan expression to detect the lie. No, it wasn't possible. It was ridiculous that she would be forced to carry this man as her burden – to provide for him. Her stomach soured and she felt nauseous. It would be just like the Ministry to do such a thing.

"That's not true," she said weakly.

"As you like." He opened his hands in a supplicant's gesture. "I'll leave, and we can both find out together."

"You said you had your own home. You said you had your own form of employment. What do you think you're going to be – one of those kept pure-blood wives? I can't take care of you! You can take care of your own damn self."

Snape shrugged. "As they say, it's all gone tits up. My home and lab have been destroyed."

"Get a job! Get a hotel room and get out of my life." Mr. Watkins from 306 shuffled down the hallway and looked in at the disturbance; Hermione smiled and closed the door. "You want me to provide for you?"

"I'm not begging you for charity. I'm telling you to uphold your end of the contract."

Hermione crossed the room and grabbed her purse. A quick rummage produced a miniature tent small enough to be a child's toy. She'd sworn that she'd never set foot in the godforsaken tent again, but had kept it anyway – for emergencies. It had seemed like such a practical thing, after all.

She shoved it at him.

"Here. This is me providing for you."

"Is this the tent I think it is?"

"Yes, it is," she said, with false enthusiasm.

Snape scowled. "There's no bathroom."

"Make do. Improvise. You're a wizard. Figure something out. We did." Hermione deftly omitted the fact that she and the boys had not been able to come up with a real workable solution to the missing bathroom, which was just one further reason in a long litany of reasons of why she hated camping.

"Is that it then? You're putting me out?"

Hermione opened the door for him again.

As he crossed the threshold, she stopped him by placing her hand gently on his shoulder. "You know this could have ended better if you had just talked to me from the start. I'm not an unreasonable woman."

Severus stared at her hard. In truth, he had prepared himself for battle, expecting a wife – any wife of his in particular – to be a shrew. He pictured the adolescent girl she had been at school, her features just a bit more roundish and pudgy. She'd been an utter swot, ink-stained and insufferable, but not unkind. Severus took measure of the woman, his woman. No, she wasn't the bullying type, and she'd not stand for being bullied. He realized he didn't have much experience with witches like her, and Azkaban had whittled away his manners. In those six years he hadn't uttered a single thank you, nor offered a single please. He inclined his head.

"My apologies," Severus said sincerely. "It was very boorish of me to intrude and unfair to you."

Hermione blinked. "Oh, well..." Hermione flustered. "I suppose we can share the bathroom here. There's a small terraced garden out back, full of weeds and nobody uses it, but if you put up Muggle Repelling Charms, it should be all right."

"Thank you. Good night, Hermione."

"Good night -"

"Severus."

Hermione nodded. "Good night then, Severus."

"Come, Ushanka! We're leaving." A scruffy grey cat appeared seemingly out of nowhere and with a walk befitting a queen, sauntered past Hermione and out the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hermione ran to the window that overlooked the small fenced yard, watching intently as he began warding. The tent sprang up, and then quickly shimmered from her view. She stayed there watching the patch of dead grass where she knew he was preparing for bed. At her feet, Crooks butted her legs and meowed loudly, demanding attention and producing a full accounting of his complaints.

"Good night, Severus."

She picked up the traumatized tom and retreated for bed.

Severus watched her form move away from the window and wrenched back the tent flap. Stale air hit his nostrils. "Do you see all this, Ushanka?" He gestured at the rickety camp beds and makeshift furniture. "Compliments of my dear wife."

Ushanka gave him a baleful glare, her green eyes narrowing.

"Would you prefer the streets? How about Potter's handouts? At least we're entitled to this."  
Severus dropped carelessly on the closest bunk and stretched out his limbs.

* * *

_Granger asked him for nothing for rent._

_Good - he had not so much as a cent._

_Bloody buggering wife,_

_She was nothing but strife._

_All she gave him was that fucking tent!_


	5. Chapter 5 Knicks

**Chapter Five - Knicks**

He was awake as soon as morning's light seeped through the rough canvas. Stretching limbs carefully, moving old bones about, and listening to protesting joints popping, Severus slowly sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. His menacing cat had left him in the night, and it was certain that some succulent field mouse or baby rabbit had met a gory doom. With a tired sigh, he acknowledged it was best to find a breakfast of his own, preferably one without a tail.

Severus trudged with mixed anticipation to Hermione's flat. They hadn't exactly made proper arrangements the night before. There hadn't yet been a division of boundaries. No agreement over who got the first shower and who did the washing up. Severus was betting he'd get stuck with the washing up. Still, he didn't really feel like fighting over it. Normalcy was what he wanted. Perfectly boring, tea and toast normalcy. No fights. No domestic drama. His wife could fritter away her own life however she pleased as long as Severus could get a quiet cuppa and the paper each morning. Hell, he'd be willing to trade away his soul for that. Well, maybe not his soul, but someone's soul, certainly.

In the hallway he could hear the sound of the shower running. Well, that answered that question. Decision made for him, Severus set about scavenging for food. He'd been out of the kitchen far too long and already he could hear the rattle of pans calling to him.

Hermione was toweling off her hair when she was alerted to the fact she wasn't alone. She reached out for her wand before belatedly realizing it was probably just Severus. Just Severus. Hermione snorted. Her ex-Potions professor was in her house. Never mind the fact that they were married on paper. He had been her teacher in school and a man who, in her mind, fit there. She could imagine Severus Snape in the Hogwarts dungeons. She could see him perfectly in battle, casting silent spells faster than she could ever manage to utter them – he fit there, too. And if she applied just a little bit of imagination, she could picture Severus Snape sitting in Azkaban. That also fit.

But he did not belong in her home. It was too incongruous. It did not fit.

Hermione darted from the bathroom to her bedroom and dressed hastily. When she emerged it was to find Severus in her kitchen, barefoot, and tending to a savory-smelling egg fry up and fresh coffee. It smelled divine. It also looked like there was enough to share.

"May I?" she asked, pulling down plates from the cupboard.

Severus nodded mutely and turned off the hob.

"We had all this in the house?" Hermione wrinkled her forehead and Severus plated their food. "I didn't think we did."

"The sausage, I borrowed from Mr. McCorkle, but otherwise it came from the pantry. You did actually have some food on hand other than Merlin's Munchie-O's. Although, for your acumen in Potions, I'm rather surprised you don't cook."

"I cook." She didn't. Not really. But Hermione felt shamed into defending herself. "I just don't have anyone to cook for. It hardly seems worth it to do up a meal just for myself." There wasn't any point in cooking for Ron, either. Every dish served was critiqued against what Molly Weasley would serve. Weighed and judged against how close it tasted like mum's.

"I see. Perhaps then we can take turns cooking for each other."

Hermione readily agreed to the offer. "Who is…"

"Your neighbor."

"Oh." Hermione ate silently. It was good. Really good. She tried to think of the last time she'd had a hot fresh breakfast. It had been a while. When she and Ron were together, Hermione never wanted to wake up at the Burrow, despite Molly's famous cooking. A walk of shame in front of a household of Weasley boys was beyond her dignity to endure.

Severus straightened his back with a small groan, and Hermione could hear the vertebra popping from across the table.

"You didn't sleep well?"

He glared at her. "I've had jail cells more comfortable than that tent. Those camp beds should be classified as cruel and unusual."

"Oh," she said quietly. He probably didn't want suggestions from her, certainly not when it might remind him of her hand waving in the air as a young student with all the answers, but… he looked pained. And Hermione had more than enough experience with that bloody tent to empathize wholly.

"Try, _Lecto laxus_. For some reason it seems to work better than the standard cushioning charms."

"I didn't know you cared so much for my welfare," he said with a slight grin, which Hermione understood was his way of showing gratitude.

"If it keeps you from being a grump in the mornings."

"I doubt anything can do that."

She glanced at the time and hurried to finish then pulled her wallet from her robes. Hermione plunked onto the table what she usually spent for groceries, then doubled it. Despite being in prison for the last six years, Severus would probably know better what to buy for the household than she would.

"Would you mind getting groceries today? There's a store two blocks to the East." When Severus agreed, she took a parting sip of coffee and tidied her dishes. Hermione stopped herself before she dashed out the door. "Thank you for breakfast. It was really lovely. This was… nice. Do you think we could do it again?"

"You mean eat?"

"No. I mean not snipe at each other. You know – behave like adults."

"I think it could be done." He eyed her suspiciously. Younger women were prone to fits of drama - they were gossips and blabbermouths. Self centered, self serving, and tickle headed. They got on his wick first thing in the morning. But so were middle aged and elderly women, come to think of it. And it wasn't just first thing in the morning either.

It wasn't likely that the peace would last.

The charade would end sometime.

"Let's take it a day at a time," Severus cautioned as her frizzy head disappeared from the doorway.

* * *

The girl. His wife. Hermione. She left him home alone. Not a single ward within the flat modified against him, which was practically an invitation. It was almost as if she trusted him. Although it was more likely that she hadn't thought of it. Maybe she believed he was too much of a gentleman to snoop. No, she would have remembered that he'd been a spy. Being a former spy entitled a man to have a look around. There was probably a regulation within the super secret spy code that mandated he have a look.

Besides. She would never know. Only the fat tomcat lounging on her bedspread and pretending to sleep would ever know he snooped.

Hermione was mostly tidy. Unoriginal with her choice of knickers. Possessed an enormous collection of unused makeup. She had a few hundred books – many worth reading, some not.

The piles of romance novels fell in the latter category.

The other bedroom was set up as a computer room. Two computers. Small and sleek, they certainly weren't like the computers he remembered, but what the devil did the girl need two computers for? A large telly and some sort of film device dominated the corner of the room. Severus scanned the titles on her shelves. War hero action genre. Definitely did not fit her profile. Was it possible she was bringing men over to the house? Well, that would have to stop. He didn't have much of a claim on the witch, but she was his wife. And as long as they were married, he wouldn't stand for being cuckolded. They would simply have to learn to abide by each other.

The total sum of the small flat yielded very little to hold his interest. Oh, there was a fascinating little personal box under the bed, and another stash of dirty books in the far corner of the closet, but certainly nothing abnormal. And in his experience, little miss Hermione was rather tame.

Good.

He'd had enough of exotic to last a lifetime.

Just before his stomach took to rumbling, Severus set out for the shop she'd mentioned, and tried to get acquainted with the neighborhood. Unfashionable but safe, Granger lived on a thoroughly Muggle street in London. Nondescript. Ho-hum. Post-war ordinary. How did the most insufferably ambitious witch of her generation manage mediocrity? There was something rather unsettling about that.

He passed a used book store and made a mental note to check it out later. The scents wafting from the neighborhood curry shop were likewise enticing. A few people were on the street, but nobody threatening, and certainly nobody who gave him a second glance, until he entered the local grocer Hermione had sent him to. The shop keeper gave him a very stern glare usually reserved for criminals and teenage boys.

Well. He'd been a criminal. But was it somehow marked on him? Severus had deliberately chosen his slacks and collared shirt to blend in. His heart started to pound. Was this the moment when the veil would be lifted? This keen eyed clerk saw him for who he was. Would all the good, normal citizens on the street see him as a criminal too? They would know. They would all look at him and, those polite smiles fading, clutch their children and back away from him, muttering, _Dumbledore's Murderer. _

"You can't bring that cat in here."

Severus let out a sigh of relief and pivoted, half expecting Ushanka to rub against his legs. But no. Granger's ginger beast sat naught three feet from him, looking rather well satisfied with himself for having gotten Severus in trouble. Bloody Gryffindors.

Severus addressed the tom, knowing full well he looked stupid for doing it in the eyes of Muggles, but didn't care. The magical part-Kneazle understood perfectly well.

"Go home then. You've done enough spying for your mistress. Go on and report to her when she comes back, but you're not following me in here."

The beast paused, considering, making Severus wait and feel foolish. But he turned tail and walked out proudly, threading between the legs of an incoming shopper. Severus had no doubt the cat would be waiting for him to depart.

"Sorry about that," he muttered to the clerk before grabbing a buggy.

Severus wasted time in the aisles. Being only a neighborhood shop and not a large supermarket chain, the selection was not vast and overwhelming, but provided enough to look at and inspect. He read the labels and compared the selections. His mother had taught him to divide the price by the quantity to arrive at the best deal, the cheapest amount. He'd learned how to scrimp, to buy cabbage when it went on sale and dicker for a better price when the tomatoes went soft. It had been some time since he had cash in his pocket, but what Hermione gave him looked like enough that he didn't have to scrape by.

There would probably be some leftover for toothpaste so he didn't have to rely on the near-empty tube nicked from Augusta's house. Would Hermione buy him toothpase? The girl probably would. He reminded himself that she'd signed a contract swearing that in the case he couldn't provide for himself, she'd provide for his needs. That clause was there for the old and infirm, for pureblood wives and well-heeled heirs. Someone needed to take care of them. The state surely wouldn't. Just in case, Severus threw in the cheapest brand and kept shopping.

At some point, while holding up two tins of corn and studying them as though they were Bowtruckle paste, Severus realized he was dragging his feet. He indiscriminately tossed one of the tins into the buggy. It didn't matter which one; they were identical as far as he could tell. The salt content was higher on one of them, the sugars higher on the other, but otherwise the same. He was stalling, and probably looking like a big bloody idiot to any bystanders – of which there were none. He still felt like an idiot.

Intimidated and fearful of a grocery clerk. Dawdling like a fool who doesn't have anything better to do with his life. He was passing the hours – passing them slowly because that was what he was accustomed to doing. Accustomed to finding ways to whittle down the hours in prison – one more day, one more night. Quietly, Severus acknowledged to himself that he was responsible for causing himself to feel like a prisoner. Beneath his breath Severus growled. When had he allowed himself to be beaten?

Severus did not stay long. He paid for the goods and left. Stopping midway, he considered placing a charm on the sacks to make them lighter, but the exertion felt good. It was the first damn thing he'd really done for himself in years. Taking a deep breath of city air, Severus could not detect a single note of sea salt. Azkaban was hundreds of miles away, and Severus was a free man.

* * *

_As a spy, he picked up a few tricks._

_There were times that he used them for kicks._

_All the wards were down,_

_There was no one around,_

_He rifled through Hermione's knicks._


	6. Chapter 6 Fit

**Chapter Six - Fit**

When Hermione returned from work, it was to find Severus moving about the kitchen to the rhythm of _String of Pearls _as it played on the wireless. She paused in the doorway, amused to watch his hips swing. Who was this odd man? Hermione carefully shut the door and attempted to quietly sneak by, but he heard her and all movement ceased. Instead of looking ashamed, Severus glared as if she'd done something wrong.

"How was your day?" Hermione asked politely.

Severus grunted. "I ran your errands. Dinner is cooking. Is there anything else the Miss should want before this house-elf retires?"

So it was going to be like that? Hermione sighed; there went her hopes for polite company. Ah well, the honeymoon wasn't bound to last long. Hell, their honeymoon had taken place while the groom was with Lord Voldemort. "Let me just get squared away, and I'll help you."

Dinner was a somber affair, reminding Hermione of her years at Hogwarts when Professor Snape would sit at the head table, stab food viciously, and glare at the miscreant children he was obliged to protect. She'd felt bad for him then. Once she'd been enlightened by the Order, Hermione had taken to watching him, following his dismal moods. His behavior at the breakfast table was a better bellwether to the coming news than the Daily Prophet. More accurate than any of Trelawney's prognostications, when Snape was in the foulest of moods, it foretold more death and destruction.

But he hadn't spent the day Muggle-baiting with Death Eaters, had he? Certainly not.

"So, spill it. What has you in such a snit?"

His upper lip twitched into a sneer. "Why should you care?" he asked waspishly.

That was it. "You're right." Hermione put her fork down and pushed her plate away. "I shouldn't. I'm not your wife, and the faster we can get divorced, the better. Incidentally, I found out about that today."

Snape's stormy gaze dropped for a moment as he considered her with vague interest. She was an irritant and an inconvenience – unless, of course, he wanted something from her.

"Today I petitioned for a court date. The soonest they had was nearly two weeks from now, but we're on the docket. I had a friend pull a favor for me and it's an empty entry, so we shouldn't have any reporters following us. We just have to present our case, affirming that neither of us knew about the marriage, it was a 'fog of war' and all that, and that Professor Dumbledore had acted on our behalf, but not in good faith."

"You're assuming they might do someone like me a favor."

"No, given half the chance, they probably would throw you back in Azkaban. But I happen to be rather well-liked. On the rare occasion I speak publicly, I'm a media darling. At the moment I'm inclined to work that to my advantage. Speaking before the Wizengamot, I intend to use the words 'war hero' as often as possible."

Hermione folded her arms beneath her breasts and gave him her very best level look that bespoke a challenge, _mess with me and see how far it gets you_.

"They may believe me. I was locked away in prison, but I don't believe for a moment that they'll accept that you knew nothing of our marriage. I certainly don't."

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. "I never knew."

"Oh spare me, Granger. It never came up once? I was out of Azkaban for three days before I learned of it. We've been married for seven years, and you just found out? I am not a stupid man."

Blood rushed up to her face. She hated being wrong, but she hadn't lied either, and the truth had been nagging at her ever since their trip to the Ministry. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. "Once, when I went to renew my Apparition license, they had checked the wrong box for my marital status. It was marked married. I convinced them it was a mistake and they fixed it."

"And that didn't raise alarm bells for you?"

She opened her mouth and closed it. How could she defend herself? How was she to know at the time she was legally married to Severus Snape? That wasn't the sort of thing that just pops into a girl's mind. She took another deep breath.

"When I file my taxes, it's also automatically marked married, but there's no other name on the form. I thought it was a clerical error."

"Prisoners don't file taxes. And wizards don't make clerical errors."

"Oh that's rich – of course they do." Hermione shook her head. "The wizarding world is full of errors, mistaken identity, miscarriages of justice, and wrongful imprisonment – not that I'm implying you were wrongfully convicted."

"Of course not. You probably believe I should still be there."

"Maybe," she challenged.

"Wizards do not get vital statistics wrong," Severus said with absolute conviction. "Wizards never get this wrong. Blood status is the cornerstone of our society. Those forms are all magically created. The chance of error is infinitesimally small. Have you ever known Hogwart's Magical Quill to make a mistake? You should have known better. You should have investigated the moment you saw it."

Flustered, but undeterred, Hermione countered the best she could. "I'll have you know, that sainted quill you hold in such high esteem spelled my name wrong for the first three years of my schooling. Every report listed me as Hermione Jane Granger. It's Jean."

Severus pulled a sour face. "Perhaps you should double-check your birth record."

"Oh give it a rest. I didn't investigate. I didn't double check my own vital records. It was an error – our whole marriage is an error. Nobody asked me if I wanted this. Nobody asked me anything. Nothing I've ever wanted has ever mattered to the Order, they just dump on good old Hermione, who never minds."

"Yes, well you're the one who's going to have to explain to the Wizengamot how you've known for years that you were listed as married, but never bother to look into it. Can your pride live with the fact that you're going to have to plead ignorance? _I'm Muggle-born; I didn't know any better_," he mimicked.

She drew a slow breath and felt the warmth of her cheeks with the back of her palm.

"It'll just have to. Would you prefer we stay married?"

"No."

"Then I have no choice."

They mopped up the kitchen together, dividing the work so neither could accuse the other of not sharing the burden. Once dinner was cleared away, Hermione withdrew to the computer room to work. Severus helped himself to some of her paperbacks. And an owl arrived. It was from Ronald Weasley.

"I'm going out tonight," she said, poking her head around the corner. Ron's note dangled in her fingers. Severus was lounging on her couch reading, looking as relaxed and content as the grey mop of fur on his chest. "Don't wait up for me."

She waited for some reaction from him, half expecting a tirade, but Severus merely glanced up from his page and nodded. For some silly reason this sat sour with her. She was going out for the night, possibly with strange men to do wild and kinky things. Lascivious acts could take place. That was all bunk of course, but Severus didn't know that. Didn't he feel the slightest bit jealous or protective? And what the hell was wrong with her that she wanted him to be jealous and protective of her?

"I must be barmy," Hermione muttered to herself.

She dressed herself for meeting Ron and tried to mentally prepare herself for the coming conversation. During spare bits of time she'd practiced a small speech, although nothing sounded quite right. She had even jumped on the internet to research advice for 'how to politely tell the ex-boyfriend that you had really been married the whole time you had dated, even though you hadn't known it, and oh by-the-way, it's Professor Snape.' The search for advice was fruitless and definitively proved that not everything was available online. Although the internet was still a great place for porn.

"Right. Well, I'm going now." Ready to Apparate, she stood in front of Severus in snug jeans and nice-but-not-too-nice shirt, and realized she was posing slightly, as if she wanted to turn his head. Oh dear god – how mortifying. Hermione might as well have held up a sign that screamed, _NOTICE ME! I'm attractive! I'm female! I'm available - and perhaps slightly eager for your attention!_

Did this mean she was crushing on Severus Snape?

No, certainly not.

Couldn't be. He wasn't even her type.

With one of her D's being 'distraction' Hermione tried to focus on The Three Broomsticks and managed to exit her apartment with the kind of loud bang usually attributed to novices. The landing wasn't so smooth either.

"Let's hope that's the last time you humiliate yourself tonight, girlie," she whispered.

Finding Ron wasn't easy. He'd taken a secluded corner table that was partially concealed by the staircase and cloaked in shadows. For this, Hermione was grateful. Ron cast his gaze about nervously as she approached, and Hermione wondered if she hadn't put him off with her cryptic message.

"Hi there."

"'Mione." Ron tipped his head as she found a seat. "What are you drinking tonight?"

"Um… maybe just a light cider."

The barmaid was called for and their order was given. A plate of crisps for Ron was also requested.

Hermione started out the obligatory pleasantries. "How have you been?"

"Fine, just fine. And you?"

"Fine," she replied feeling rather at a loss for words. "I finally got around to watching that movie you left me."

"Oh, how was it?"

"Er… good?" She fidgeted with the edge of her napkin. "Well, actually it wasn't really my thing."

"Not to be a prat, Hermione, but why did you ask me to come here?"

"I have something to tell you…" Hermione summoned her courage. "I–"

"Want you to stay away from my wife."

Hermione's head whipped around so fast her muscles strained.

"May I?" Severus asked, sitting at their table.

"Hermione?" Ron asked warily. "What's going on here?"

"She's here to tell you we're married. And she's not going to be seeing you any further, but that's my own message to you."

"Ron, I'm really sorry about this." Hermione cringed. "I didn't know he was going to be here."

She turned to Severus and hissed under her breath, _"What are you doing?"_

"Making it perfectly clear that he's not welcome around my wife."

"Well you shouldn't be here."

"Hermione, what's going on?" Ron asked again. "What makes him say he's married to you?"

"We are," Severus stated.

"Look here, mate; I was talking to Hermione."

"It's a funny story, actually. Well, not really." Hermione floundered for words for a moment before they all started pouring out of her in a rush. "You see, I got a message to pick up Professor Snape, Severus, from Azkaban prison and that's how I found I was his next of kin. I didn't know what that meant at the time, but I've come to find out it's because we were married about seven years ago. Well, not really married because we weren't there, you see… but Dumbledore legally married us, on paper… I think. I'm not entirely sure about that either, but according to the Ministry, it's official. Honestly, I never knew until recently."

Hermione gave a weak smile.

"I owled you as soon as I found out. I promise, Ron."

Ron sat back and gave a low whistle. "Cor." He gestured between them. "And you've been married to him…" Hermione watched Ron mentally count, "since the end of Sixth year. Just before Dumbledore died. This whole time?"

"I didn't know about it, Ron."

"Yeah, I heard you." Ron scratched his fingers through his hair and gave the Potions master a serious look. "What about you, then? Did you know about this? Were you after my 'Mione?"

"Certainly not." Severus' look of pure disdain was quite a blow to Hermione's ego. The bastard looked like he'd have preferred Grawp to her. "She was a student, under my care and protection. What was done to us was both unethical and immoral."

"Right, I got you, because you're such a moral authority," Ron quipped. "What's this about Dumbledore, then?"

Internally, Hermione sighed in relief. Ron's posture and attitude was still defensive, but he was using the tone he usually took when he was discussing tactics and problem solving.

"He signed our betrothal petition and marriage certificate. He arranged it all." Hermione tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice and failed. "He abused the authority we'd given him as our legal guardian to do it."

"This is exactly why I said you should have made Mum and Dad your guardians."

"That would have made us brother and sister, Ron!"

"Enough," Severus interjected. "That line of thinking is entirely pointless. There's no use arguing over who should have been made your guardian, when that ship sailed long ago. The fact is, Albus had power over the both of us and he used it to his advantage."

"I fail to see how it worked to his advantage," Hermione said angrily. "I knew he was a bit of a matchmaker, but this is completely out of line."

"Nah," Ron said. "He wouldn't marry you two because he fancied it. Dumbledore didn't work that way. Oh he was nutters alright, but scary clever too."

"I agree with Mr. Weasley," Severus said. "It's unlikely Albus had us married for personal reasons. The timing of our supposed wedding also suggests a multitude of strategies. The outcome of the war was uncertain. And it must have been one of his final acts before the events that took place on the Astronomy tower."

"You mean the event where you killed him."

"Ron! Be nice," she chided.

"No, Mr. Weasley is quite correct, and there is no need to varnish over the truth. Albus knew once I killed him, I would have to flee. It's possible he hoped to bind us for a useful purpose. If the war turned against our favor, Hermione would have been spared the worst of it as my wife. Under my protection, she could have continued the resistance."

Hermione looked doubtful. "As your wife, I'd have been killed instantly."

"Perhaps," Severus mused, his finger resting on his lip. "But not necessarily. You may be Muggle-born, but you're a powerful witch. Power was one of the few things the Dark Lord respected. Also, don't overlook the fact that I'm half-blood. Blood superiority only really applies to pure-bloods who don't wish to be tainted. They don't give a damn who people of lower blood status marry – dirty blood is dirty blood, and a half-blood isn't much of a step up from a Muggleborn."

"Ignoring for a moment that I'm also a friend of Harry Potter, of course," Hermione said dryly.

"You'd be a novelty – the hit of parties. They'd trot you out to humiliate you at social events, but it's more fun to have a live party favor than a dead martyr."

Ron looked between them, considering, the cogs of his mind turning.

"We won, but we also didn't know how we were going to win," he said slowly. "For all we knew at that time, Snape here was the enemy. I mean, he came out all right at the end, but how were we to know? You could have been a real traitor."

"Quite right, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm not following," Hermione said.

"Mr. Weasley is gently referring to the fact that the bond of marriage provides a certain amount of control. If you were to dabble in the shaded arts a little further, or delve into those books from the Black library, you would find a rather large assortment of spells that can be cast to locate one's mate. You would have been able to track me down, presumably for trial."

"And you could do the same to me." There was something very unsettling about that. It wouldn't have crossed her mind to go after him. She'd never been tempted to practice the Dark Arts, but Severus had. Would he even have hesitated?

"No, I could not… Would I use such a locating spell to find and protect you if you were in trouble; yes. That knowledge would have actually been immensely helpful to me whilst you were traipsing around the woods, floundering without a clue, but not to punish. I don't have the desire within me to harm another innocent. Albus was aware of this."

"You aren't a traitor though, so where does that leave us? We're still married. Although it's possible it was his intention that I take care of you out of prison as I'm doing now."

"Bloody hell, 'Mione! You're taking care of him?" Ron wailed.

"Figuratively speaking," Hermione clarified.

"You never took care of me," he grumbled. Hermione passed Ron a disgusted look and resisted the urge to cuff the ingrate on the back of the head.

Ignoring the comment, she turned to Severus. "I don't suppose we'll ever know all of Professor Dumbledore's machinations. Every time I thought I figured out one of his plans, it turned out to be something entirely different." Hermione sighed. "I'd love to ask his portrait to explain it, but from what I've heard, Professor Dumbledore does not wish to talk about the war. He'll natter on for hours about cow tail caramels, but won't say one word about what happened."

"We should all be so lucky for a peaceful afterlife."

"Well, it all makes sense to me," Ron agreed. "If I'd have been in his place, I'd have married you. It makes proper sense to maintain a connection between the Order's only spy and our Trio. Snape could be a good resource to have around, you know, for his insider information, Dark Arts stuff, and knowledge about certain projects," Ron nodded emphatically to Hermione. "That, and well, you're both scary smart and scheming."

"Ron!" Hermione protested, knocking him on his shoulder.

"What Hermione? It's one of those political marriages. I mean, other than the fact that you're married to the git, it works for us."

"I'm glad to hear you're so agreeable, Mr. Weasley. Now if you don't mind, please stay the hell away from my wife."

"Look here," Hermione said, addressing Severus with the voice that best worked on the boys. "You can't just demand that we not see each other – it's not possible, and completely unreasonable. There will be times when Ron and I will be in public together, or have to attend Order meetings, and I am still invited as a guest by his family."

"No, I don't object to you occasionally meeting in public social settings, but I think Mr. Weasley understands what I'm saying. And if I'm not mistaken, he doesn't mind the request. He hasn't offered a single protest."

Hermione turned to Ron. "Is that true? You're not bothered by this?"

Ron shrugged and gave a pained half grin. "Well, it's like Snape said, right? You're married. I can't get between that."

"More likely it's because Mr. Weasley has found someone else," Severus observed quietly.

"Ron?" She blinked.

"You're married, Hermione, the Wizengamot doesn't break marriages very often," he protested.

"Ron! You are seeing someone." Suddenly, Hermione felt very queasy.

"You broke it off with me, remember?"

"I – but I've broken up with you plenty of times; you've never run off with someone else."

"Well maybe I finally got the message, Hermione," Ron asserted. "I've found a witch who actually likes my movies. She thinks my jokes are pretty funny too. You used to always slap me on the shoulder and say, 'Ron, that's inappropriate.' She likes to cook. Likes to come to my Quidditch practice. She even likes my new rat."

"Wow, she likes your rat – she must be a keeper." Hermione sniffed. "I hope you're very happy with your new witch, Ronald." God, why did she want to cry? Just then she hated all the men in her life. Bastards, the whole lot of them.

"Incidentally, what triggered the break up in the first place?" Severus quietly asked.

Hermione balled up her napkin, just in case tears came. "Oh it was some insensitive comment Ron made."

"It wasn't insensitive!"

"Yes, yes it was. He said if we'd gotten married the first time he asked, we could be on our third child." Hermione laughed mirthlessly. "It was an accusation."

"Then perhaps, you should bear this in mind," Severus softly advised. "The choice to start a family is a significant one."

"Tina wants to start a family," Ron boasted proudly.

"Well good for bloody Tina!"

He had found his prize. A witch who fawned over and adored him – laughed at his dirty jokes and probably made chicken pie just the way he liked it. Tina could be up the duff every nine months. And Hermione? She'd be stuck with Severus. Nasty, horrible, git.

"I want children, Ron. You know I do – a little boy and a girl, maybe. When the time is right and I don't have other obligations to take care of." Hermione's lashes started to get soaked.

Ron sat and moped. "That could take forever, 'Mione."

"Well I guess it's not your problem anymore." She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks.

"I think," Severus said, pulling a coin from his pocket, "that it's time that we were leaving. I'll see to Hermione. Mr. Weasley, you have a good evening."

"Snape." Ron nodded politely.

Hermione was tucked under Severus' shoulder as he bundled her out of The Three Broomsticks and into the night. He paused briefly on the street, lifting her chin up under the gaslight of a lamppost to inspect for tears and signs of distress.

"Will you be well tonight?"

She sniffled. "I think so."

"Shall I stay with you?"

"What! No… no. I'll be fine. It's not like Ron and I were meant to last forever, I suppose. And we were broken up… I just… I guess I never expected it to be like this."

"If it's any consolation, it was wrong of Mr. Weasley to rub your face in it."

"That's rather decent of you, Severus."

He smiled briefly, just a gentle tipping of his lips. "It's been known to happen on occasion. Don't let the word get out. A witch like you could thoroughly ruin my reputation."

"Snaaape! Oi, Snape!" Ronald shouted as he ran after them, his footfalls treading heavily on the cobblestone. Hermione paused to meet him, squaring her shoulders. "I need a word with 'Mione," Ron gasped. "You didn't think I was just going to hand her over, did you? We weren't finished back there."

"Hermione?" Severus asked in a guarded voice. "You don't have to speak with him if you don't wish to."

"I know that, I can handle myself," Hermione muttered, drawing herself up. She grabbed Ron's elbow and walked a few feet from Severus, looking to put a safe distance between the two wizards.

Ron looked up and down the nearly empty street. Only Severus stood nearby. To keep their discussion private, Ron cast a silencing spell.

"Look 'Mione, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Tina. You deserved to know sooner."

Hermione crossed her arms beneath her chest and shrugged. "I guess it doesn't really matter now." She looked over at Severus who was intensely studying a storefront window. The way he leaned forward into the glass, something about it was off… "As long as she makes you happy, that's what's important," she said sadly.

He smiled dopily. "Yeah."

Hermione had seen that same look before in his eyes; he was man completely smitten. Ronald used to be in love with her. And she had felt the same for him. Great, big hormonal love. Hermione wondered what happened to those feelings. Hormones changed?

"You were going to forgive me anyway." He shrugged carelessly.

"I was?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Yep." He smiled. "You finally come around to your senses within seven weeks, just like clockwork."

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "You apologize every seven weeks, just like clockwork."

They exchanged quick grins.

"And what about him?" Ron nodded towards Severus. "Do you think we could ever trust him near the project?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione said softly. "I'd like to think I could trust him, but…" Hermione blinked in realization, and quickly shot an obscuring spell at the glass. Severus whirled away.

"Hermione?" Ron asked in confusion.

She grunted. "Unbelievable, what a freaking Slytherin. He was reading our lips in the window's reflection."

Ron nodded. "Let Malfoy take him. Until then, you better make sure your flat is secure and keep him at arm's distance." Regardless of the silencing charm, Ron lowered his voice. "Do you think this might be why Dumbledore married you?" His eyes grew wider. "For some strange dark sexual ritual at the sites?"

Hermione sighed and felt very tired. It had been an extremely long day and she wasn't in the mood to indulge his absurd theory. "I don't know, Ron." She rubbed at her forehead. "I just don't know."

Ron looked a little sick. "That would be kinda messed up. Freaky even."

"Good night, Ronald." Hermione started walking away.

"Blimey 'Mione, if you need someone for a sex ritual, I could do it," he called after her.

Hermione turned, narrowing her eyes. "And here I thought you were in love with Tina. You really are an ugly prat."

He choked and floundered, struggling to articulate an answer.

"Good night, Ronald."

Hermione walked away for good.

She found Severus, patiently waiting at the street corner as if he'd never been attempting to eavesdrop upon their conversation at all. He took her arm and a moment later he Apparated them back to her apartment.

They parted wordlessly. Severus trudged off to his tent. Hermione was left to stew over the events of the evening.

* * *

_That Ronald was really a shit!_

_They were headed straight for a split._

_She hated his rat._

_He hated her cat._

_As a couple, they just didn't fit._


	7. Chapter 7 Work

**Chapter Seven - Work**

By the next morning, it still rankled that Severus had invited himself to her meeting with Ron. Somehow he'd gone through her personal correspondence to find out about it – an invasion of her privacy, and that was unacceptable. It also called into question what other ways Severus Snape might have snooped into her affairs. Hermione recalled quite clearly that he had been one of the most calculating and successful spies in wizarding history.

She briefly thought about what kinds of incriminating evidence and personal business was about her flat that required protecting. No. Everything worth hiding was stored elsewhere. Even living behind top wards, Hermione could not afford to take the chance that her humble little flat could get burgled. She tried to live in obscurity and on a thoroughly Muggle street that virtually guaranteed anonymity. Still – _Constant Vigilance!_

He was already settled at the breakfast table, the Daily Prophet in hand, when she emerged from her bedroom. The coffee pot sat out for her and there was a warming charm on her plate.

"Good morning," she tried.

"What? Oh yes, good morning." Gods. He hoped she wouldn't become a chatterbox female. He had been forced to spend two terms between Pomona and Aurora before Albus had to intervene.

As she set about her breakfast, Hermione weighed the pros and cons of confronting Severus about his intrusion on her meeting with Ron. She was still angry, and rightly so, but decided it was for the best that she let it go. And truthfully, having him there had spared her the difficulty of telling Ron. Grudgingly, she admitted that he'd handled it better than she would have, and Ron responded better too. There hadn't been any theatrics, not much, anyhow - thankfully.

_Pick your battles wisely,_ her father's advice rang in her head.

"Do you have any plans for the day?" she asked.

Severus lifted his eyes over the Prophet, the barrier that divided them. Did this witch not know how to read social clues? A wizard ought to be entitled to a bit of peace when reading the paper. She looked eager. Happy. A slight smile on her face and not the faintest clue that she'd crossed him. Severus was poised to light into her, a cutting comment on his tongue, just as her question registered in his mind.

What the hell was he going to do with himself?

"I had planned to tidy the stick furniture in the canvas tent you so graciously left me. And, time permitting, I will take a stroll and investigate the buy and trade bookstore, before I have to start preparing the Madam's dinner."

"Oh."

Severus' hands tightened around the thin newspaper. Oh. What was 'Oh?' An 'Oh' of disappointment, of wistfulness? An entire conversation full of nuanced meaning distilled down into one syllable? _Oh._ Severus set the paper aside and gave his wife his full and complete attention.

"What is, Oh?"

"I had hoped that maybe you'd look for a job. Too soon? Yes, maybe too soon. You just left Azkaban. I never thought to ask if you needed recovery time. I just thought you'd want to start tucking away cash for your own place."

"And give up my luxurious accommodations?"

"No, I mean, wouldn't you prefer a place of your own…" Hermione stopped speaking, arrested by Severus' implacable gaze. "Never mind."

Sensing she would no longer disrupt his leisurely breakfast, Severus picked up the Prophet and resumed the enjoyable task of blotting out her unwanted presence.

Hermione finished up and grabbed her purse.

Before departing, she called out to him. "Don't bother making dinner for me. It's date night."

"Pardon?"

He'd gotten rid of the Weasley whelp. Would he have to start tracking the witch down over all England too? How many men did she have at her call?

"It's Friday night, Severus," she clarified. "I always go out and treat myself with something nice – even if it is just me. But you're welcome to come along."

Severus nodded. "I'll consider it."

* * *

_I had hoped that maybe you'd look for a job._

Those words repeated through his head all morning. The moment he'd busy himself in a task, and thought that he'd finally rid himself of those odious words, it only served to prove he had not.

_I had hoped that maybe you'd look for a job._

And he'd hoped that maybe his wife would be some wealthy, fuckable, pure-blood witch who'd blow him every morning. One had to live with disappointments.

Two minutes after setting foot in the bookstore, Severus walked out. The handful of Muggle coins he had left in his pocket was a mocking reminder of Hermione's words. She had to provide for him. Those were the terms and conditions of his release, but he'd be damned if he'd live off her and use her up like his father had done to his mother.

In a secluded alleyway, perfect for Apparition, Severus considered his next destination. With a heavy sigh he concluded there was only one place for him to go.

"Hey Lewis! Get a load a' this!" Martin, one of the iron boars atop the gates of Hogwarts squealed. "It's old Snapey!"

Lewis snorted and chuffed. "Eh Snapey! Whatcha doin' back here old man? Gonna huff and puff and blow this place down again?" The boars dissolved into laughter.

"That doesn't even make sense, you screw-tailed swine," Severus muttered.

They continued to squeal as he walked the winding cobblestone path to the entrance, and he swore he could hear them chortling even as he approached the main entryway.

Small eyes followed his movements. Children scattered in his wake. A frightened child in front of him dropped her books. _Six points from Ravenclaw_ was on his tongue, but he bit the words back. There was absolutely no joy to be had returning to Hogwarts, especially when he lacked the basic privilege of maintaining order.

Minerva kept him waiting, but not for long. He supposed he could have made an appointment, but saw little point in stalling. The words, _I had hoped that maybe you'd look for a job,_ would not cease until he put it to rest.

"Severus," Minerva greeted. "How unexpected. You're looking… well."

Severus scowled. He was aware that he did not look well. Any of the old biddies, Minerva included, at the school would happily remark that he was unattractive, underfed, a sickly shade of pale, and perhaps use the word 'greasy' for old times' sake. There was nothing well about him.

"Minerva," he returned kindly. "The rebuilding efforts are admirable. You've done a fine job."

She waved him off with her hand; even in her younger days the Scotswoman was never one to bend an ear to platitudes or compliments. As Severus took the cushioned chair he generally regarded as his, Minerva fetched his personnel file. It was at least twice as thick as any other professor's file, mostly owing to the inordinate amount of complaints lodged against him by parents. Three quarters of those complaints were for unfair deductions of House points – a rather pointless endeavor. It also cemented in Severus' mind the belief that dunderheads begat more dunderheads.

"I'm here to enquire about getting my old position back."

There. He'd said it.

"The Headmaster's position, I take it?"

Severus winced. Minnie was one of the very few souls he was on friendly terms with, but that didn't stop her from aiming a few arrows at him.

"I've no desire to be Headmaster again," he said with complete honesty. "I didn't want it the first time." He knew that the frame above her head held Albus, and Severus resolutely kept his eyes pinned on Minerva.

She nodded her understanding. Albus had made it look easy, the sort of position that a doddering old man could perform, but it was truly anything but. Even if one ignored the children, keeping up with the staff was a full time job. That, and the parents would scream bloody murder if he returned as Headmaster, of course.

"I'm afraid, Severus, that I can't give you the Potions master position. Professor Alum has just reached his tenure and his contract won't expire for another twelve years."

He pursed his lips. "And there's no chance of the Defense Against the Dark Arts, is there?"

He clenched his fist in reflex, something he'd done every time he'd inquired in the past. He'd asked for the job so many times Severus had lost count. And briefly he allowed himself the fleeting pleasure to contemplate she might say yes.

"Ah." Severus' heart sank. "No. We've not had any trouble filling it - not since Bill Weasley took the position."

He fucking hated the Weasleys.

Against his better judgment, he grudgingly asked the question he dreaded. "Do you have any positions available?"

He couldn't accept anything less than a full professorship. And it had to be in a respectable study. Something dignified and useful. Not bloody Astronomy, where the greatest challenge presented was foul weather, and the stars generally held their respective places for several thousands of years. Decades could pass and the sky remained mostly unchanged except for a few degrees here and there. That, and there and there was far too much squinting involved. How pedestrian.

Minerva cleared her throat.

"At present I am unable to fill the groundskeeper's assistant position. That's a very physical job, mostly tending to the animals boarded at the school and overseeing the cutting of the lawn, and the maintenance of the Quidditch stadium. Those stands usually have to be repaired or replaced after every game."

Severus' shoulders dropped.

"At the end of this school year, I anticipate I will need to hire a new assistant to Madam Pince. She goes through at least one a school year, and rarely do they stay a term. Miss Crabapple has sworn to me that she intends to finish the year, but hasn't committed to returning. Sometimes I swear that position is cursed more than the DADA one. So, have you any interest, Severus?"

"In being Irma's whipping boy? No."

Most of the children wouldn't know him, but they would know of him, and that was enough. Groundskeeper's Assistant? Librarian Assistant? His dignity wouldn't be able to endure it. Severus rose.

Minerva pursed her lips. "I assume you've read the papers then. Malfoy's looking for a competent brewer with your qualities. I dare say you're the only candidate in Britain who matches the description."

"You know I won't do that."

"Why is it you two men insist on acting like small obstinate boys around each other?"

"I won't work for him and he still owes me an apology," Severus insisted.

"I'm surrounded by children," she muttered. "He says the same about you."

"Then I will have to find some other way to feed my family."

"Your family?" she asked with genuine shock.

He eyed her suspiciously. Minerva had been by Albus' side the entire time. She'd even been aware of his task to murder the Headmaster. Searching her expression, Severus found no trace of deceit.

"My dear wife," he said snidely. "Hermione Granger."

Minerva's eyes widened. "No, not Hermione."

"Oh come now, didn't you know? Albus married us years ago. He abused his power of his legal guardianship to craft our marriage certificate. And before you ask – No, I didn't know about this, not until recently."

Minerva turned on her heel and stared at the empty frame that held Albus' canvas.

"Albus, you horrible louse!" she shrieked. "You get back here this instant!"

"He left ten minutes ago," another portrait supplied. "Vanished the moment Professor Snape stepped into the room."

Several of the other portraits nodded in agreement and offered sage advice and words of wisdom. One headmaster droned on about the value of marriage as an institution. Severus excused himself while Minerva screamed threats and obscenities at the gilt frame.

Knowing that Minerva was likely to shred his canvas with her kitty cat claws whenever Albus deigned to return from whatever hidey-hole he had slunk off to put a modicum of spring in his step. Not enough to actually leave Hogwarts in any kind of good cheer, and certainly not enough to take any form of enjoyment from the cowering respect shown by the students, but there was some satisfaction to be had. As much as he tried to muster it, Severus harbored no ill will towards the former Headmaster. Tossing him off a tower with a well placed Unforgiveable meant their scorecards were permanently even, but if Minerva wanted to make Albus' painted likeness miserable, or throw a few jinxes his way – Severus certainly wasn't the wizard to stop her.

It still left the question of the day dangling in his mind, but by the time Hermione came home from work, he had his answer.

* * *

"I've booked a table for us," Severus announced as soon as Hermione arrived home. "We have reservations at Zabini's."

"Oh."

Severus gritted his teeth. _Oh. _There was that word again. What had he done wrong this time?

"Does Zabini's not suit you? Would you prefer something else?"

He sure as hell hoped not. Getting a Friday night table at Zabini's hadn't been easy, but it perfectly fit the image he had in his mind as a date night venue: superb fine dining, impeccable service, discretion and ambience. He hadn't taken a witch there in nigh on twenty years, but then he hadn't tried to impress a witch in as many years. Not that he was trying to impress Hermione Granger. Of course not, it was all her idea after all; she wasn't even his type.

She set down a few bags and lifted a heavy curl away from her face. "I had something simpler in mind, actually. I try to avoid wizarding restaurants; I don't like the attention. But there's a chippy up the way and a few other restaurants within walking distance, or we could Apparate. I know a great Lebanese place. Or we could try Italian."

Severus sneered._ A chippy shop?_ That was her date night? Hermione looked at him expectantly and his resolve crumbled.

"As you like."

They ended up walking more blocks than Severus preferred to reach a small Italian restaurant that didn't look like much from the outside. It didn't look like much from the inside either, judging by the plastic, pressed laminate and atrocious lighting, but Hermione insisted that the food was pure magic. Severus reserved his judgment until his meal arrived and deemed it heavy yet palatable.

Hermione made light banter and engaged him in stimulating conversation. She said just enough to be pleasant without being tiresome and carrying on with inanities to pull him out of his quiet reserve. The food was excellent, the wine heady, and he was welcome for the company. She was right; it was magic, the combination of food, wine and companionship somehow made the tensions slip and an easy affection to form. Before their dessert arrived, Severus was relaxed enough to propose a toast.

Hermione mirrored his movement, raising her glass.

"I was offered a job today."

She broke out in a beatific smile. "Severus, that's wonderful news!"

He watched as she drank from her glass. "Brewing illegal potions."

Hermione choked.

She coughed and sputtered a few times, allowing Severus to gently pat her back, even though the scoundrel looked like the mouse who'd stolen the cheese.

"What do you mean, _brewing illegal potions_?"

"It's a fairly straightforward term, Hermione. A Potions master brews potions by trade. Most are perfectly legal and harmless meant to soothe and heal ailments. These will be illicit and wholly unlawful. Dark magic, I should surmise, intended to maim, kill and wreck unnatural destruction upon bodies and souls."

His lips curled in dry amusement as she floundered in her outrage. There was something highly enjoyable about watching her spin like a top.

"Severus Snape, you wretch! You cannot brew illegal potions! You simply cannot. Do you want to go back to Azkaban? Do you want to get me thrown in there with you?"

Severus chuckled. "I take it you do not approve?"

Her mouth opened and closed. "No. Of course I don't approve," she responded tartly. "Wait… are you having me on?"

"Not at all my dear. I would never do a thing like that." Severus held back a smile. "Borgin gave me a list of desired potions today. He has buyers waiting right now. He's also willing to allow me to use his back room to brew."

"I don't like it Severus," she said with a warning voice. "I don't like it at all. There's absolutely no good that can come from this."

"Oh?" he challenged in a teasing voice. "With one potion, I'll have enough Galleons to afford to move out of your tent. One potion, Hermione, and I can be out of your way."

Hermione was silent.

"You're considering it, aren't you?" Satisfied, Severus nodded to himself. "It's nice to know you're at least a little morally flexible. I'd had some notion of it when you were a schoolgirl, of course, but it is reassuring to know you're still a bit bloodthirsty. Morally upstanding Gryffindors are so tedious."

Hermione took a fortifying sip of ice water. "No. I don't approve. There's no problem with you remaining in the tent, certainly not to justify brewing illegal potions. You won't do it, will you?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I will not. I've already told him I won't. The list of potions had been long and the terms quite lucrative. It gave me pause – twice. But in the end, refusing Borgin's offer had been easy. If the potions had been relatively reasonable, maybe even on the grey shade of dark, I would have seriously considered it. They had not been.

"Hermione, there might have been a time when I would have argued I was only the Potions master; I was not responsible for what people ultimately did with my brews – that was on their heads, but I've long since abandoned the philosophy."

Hermione quietly sighed in relief.

"You know," she said, cautiously. "There was an advertisement in the Prophet this morning for a Potions master at Malfoy Industries. Several specific qualities were mentioned. I believe you fit all of them; it should pay quite handsomely." She watched his jaw tighten and worried that their pleasant date night might go awry. It was well known that Severus and Lucius had an unpleasant falling out.

"I saw the advertisement," he responded evenly.

"And?"

"I think I'd rather take my chances with Borgin."

"But why? It's not like you'd have to do anything illegal for Malfoy. Everything he does is triple-checked by the Ministry now and he's done a lot of work towards repairing the damage his family caused."

Severus sighed. "Hermione, have you ever had to ask a man like Lucius for a job? No? You cannot ask a Malfoy for a favor; there's no such thing. Malfoy never gives anything for free. One day he will want something. Whether that's joining the Death Eaters, burying a body, or killing the Headmaster; all debts are paid."

It had started as such a nice evening. Hermione looked wistfully at Severus. He was a good man, a decent wizard. And they had been having a good time, surprisingly so. Having worked with Lucius a few times, she honestly didn't believe that he would expect such a thing from Severus, but then she didn't have the sort of history with Lucius that Severus had and keeping Severus employed and out of her way was very much a priority.

"I don't see how working for him would be asking for a favor. If he needs the skills of a Potions master he's getting just as much out of the deal as you are."

"Hermione, I won't speak of it."

"Alright," she sighed. "What about writing research for journal publication? I've heard it on good authority you used to send in articles for Ars Alchemica and Potions Quarterly. You could try freelancing, that pays."

"Not well," he grumbled.

"At least it's something."

"It doesn't matter," Severus scowled darkly. "I wouldn't write for those rags again; they're only good for lining owl cages."

"Pardon?"

"Complete tosh. They're a total waste of parchment masquerading as respectable publications. Everybody knows they only print half-cocked theories and idle speculation not good enough to make it into proper print."

"But why did you contribute then?" Hermione asked bewildered.

"It was expected of all Hogwarts professors to contribute to scholarly publications. I didn't have much time of my own to write real research, but fortunately those dry rags will publish anything."

"Oh," Hermione cleared her throat and looked around absently. "Well, I'm sure something will come up. Besides, there must be other employers out there that need the services of the country's best Potions master."

Petulant and brooding, the look he threw her was unconvincing.

They paid for their check and left the restaurant. Hermione slid her hand into the crook of his arm and they walked several blocks together back to her building. When he escorted her up to her flat, Severus had the strangest urge to kiss her goodnight.

* * *

_Now his duty he never would shirk,_

_Nor on bread lines did he wish to lurk._

_He wanted a job._

_But not with the Mob!_

_All he needed was some decent work._

**A/N:** I would just like to take another moment of your time to thank my beta/alpha reader team **Christev** and **Morethansirius** for their amazing help and dedication to this story. They held my hand, un-dangled modifiers, made pretty banners and artses. And Morethansirus wrote this Chapter's Limerick! **Please share the love.**


	8. Chapter 8 Trail

**Chapter Eight - Trail**

My profound thanks to PJ and Nomdeplume for providing inspiration for this chapter *waves Hi*

* * *

There was a weight on his chest. He groaned and felt a small furry paw touch his lips. Severus' eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the low near-light.

"Mrroaw."

"Gerroff me, cat."

He brought his hand up to move her, but she ducked beneath his palm and Severus ended up stroking Ushanka's fur. The two glared at each other.

"Blasted cat."

She followed his hand and insistently wriggled her head under it, coaxing him to pet her, conniving him to scritch her ears.

"Demanding thing."

Ushanka made no apologies and she got what she wanted. Severus found cuddling up and scratching her to be soothing and gratifying. Her deep rumbling purr let him know how appreciative she was of his attention. It made caring for and feeding the miserable cat nearly worth it. Ushanka allowed him the pleasure of stroking her fur for a few more minutes before she had enough. Once properly adored, the fickle beast got up and walked out.

Severus stretched and brushed a few stray cat hairs off his bedclothes. It was a near useless fight. He dressed and made his way to Hermione's apartment, curious about her plans for the weekend, but feeling strangely unsettled that his own schedule seemed to revolve around hers.

Her apartment was dark and quiet. Only her tom seemed to be about. The ginger monster gave him a sniff and settled on the couch, pretending to doze, but keeping a sleepy gaze fixed on him.

Severus listened at the bathroom door. It was silent. He knocked on her bedroom door. It was also silent. He weighed his options and slowly turned the doorknob. Hermione was sprawled out across her bed; her messy hair was splayed out a hundred different directions and her sleepshirt crept up her ribcage. She was sound asleep.

Severus shrugged. "First shower is mine."

Hermione snuggled deeper into her bedclothes and reveled in sleeping in. Every Friday night when she got to turn off the alarm on her clock, she smiled.

Crooks nudged her, butting his head beneath her chin. Sleepily she scratched the top of his head. He nudged her again.

"M'kay," she mumbled. "I'll get breakfast."

It took all of her discipline not to fall back asleep, but Hermione dragged herself from bed, Crooks fast on her heels. She put fresh water and Kneazle Kibble down for him and stretched her tired bones. Quietly padding to the bathroom, she pulled the door open, intent on morning ablutions.

She screamed.

Severus turned toward the sound.

Completely stock still, Hermione stared at him, her mind blank and her eyes taking in the image before her. Severus was at her vanity, poised with his razor in hand as he whisked away the last bits of foam from his skin.

But he was naked.

Naked.

Oh, god. He was naked. Naked beneath the towel slung low across his hips. Her eyes followed his slight but well defined chest down his stomach to the small points of his hipbones that framed a thin trail of dark hair leading to a knotted towel.

She was staring. Staring at his towel.

Severus smirked. Hermione was frozen in place. Severus smirked and cleared his throat. She looked up, startled and wide-eyed.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"Can I help you?"

Hermione winced and averted her eyes. "Uh, no. Sorry… I was just… I'm going to go now, okay? Bye."

The door closed and Hermione could hear his rich belly laugh coming from within. She slunk off to hide under the covers of her bed. She could die there. Weeks later when they found her body they'd discover the cause of death as mortification.

"_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot_," she repeated, banging her head into a pillow.

A knock sounded on her door. Reluctantly Hermione turned her head. Severus stood in her door frame, a smile barely evident in the tilt of his eyebrows. He was clothed this time, his black robes wrapped around his frame. From the top of his collar bone to his ankles he was swathed in black. The sleeves stretched down to his wrist bones – except she knew how he looked shirtless. Shirtless and with a treasure trail. She'd seen him slightly wet and wrapped in a towel. It was a mental image that wouldn't leave any time soon.

"Yes?" she asked weakly.

"The bathroom is empty," he teasingly announced. "I'll start breakfast."

"Okay."

Once he left she banged her head into the pillow a few more times for good measure. What had she been thinking, standing there staring like that?

Hermione rushed through her morning routine. It did not go unnoticed that Severus was smirking into his coffee mug.

Arse. He was enjoying her discomfort. As soon as breakfast was cleared away, he left her alone, running off to do whatever it was that Severus Snape did all day long.

She knew he was hiding himself in the tent. She knew that, of course, because she'd watched him, her fingers parting the blinds like some nosey neighbor, and spied on him as he trudged through the garden and disappeared beneath the invisible tent flaps. If anyone else had been spying, it might have seen suspicious – a man suddenly disappearing in the unkempt garden – but the anti-Muggle warding kept them from being curious.

Hermione nodded to herself when Snape was gone. The whole afternoon stretched out before her. She could do anything she wanted without bother or distraction. Hermione grabbed a book and got comfortable on the couch.

_Leah was a police dispatcher with an eye on Nate, one of the flirtatious patrolmen. The annual charity ball was approaching when, before she had the opportunity to ask Nate to go, she lost a bet and had to go with Phillip as forfeit. Phillip was the antithesis of Nate in every way_...

And Hermione didn't care.

She dropped the book and rubbed at the small headache forming between her brows. Flinging herself from the couch, Hermione rummaged through her dwindling potions supplies. Holding the cobalt phial up to the light, she inspected how much of it was remaining and made a mental note to buy more Headache Relief. She'd been going through quite a bit of the sludgy green stuff recently – Hermione blamed Severus for that. Given his behavior at Hogwarts, the wizard had been more polite than she originally expected of him, but it was still stressful having him around the house. Each day seemed to start and end with a nagging headache.

Hermione pinched her nose and took a swig. Somewhat sweet and earthy (which was a nicer description of something that tasted like mud and mildew), the chicory root sat heavy on her tongue. She made a face before cupping her hands beneath the tap and rinsing her mouth with cool water. The pounding in her head momentarily subsided, Hermione gave up on finding something interesting to do, and settled for bothering Severus.

After all, it was only fair that she return the headache.

Severus looked up briefly as his outer wards were breached, then idly flipped a page. Only three people on earth could pass through his wards without being eviscerated, a fact which was downright neighborly, but only one of those three knew where he lived. There was something vaguely irksome about knowing that overnight, Hermione Granger had become part of his 'trusted few,' but it was best to blame the great bearded bastard.

Hermione stuck her head between the tent flaps.

"Hi. Want some company?"

"If you must. I don't suppose I have a choice here."

Hermione entered the canvas wall tent and belatedly recalled her personal vow never to step inside it again. It was perhaps a promise bound to be broken.

"Probably not," Hermione returned. "I'll just inflict myself upon you wherever you run off to."

"Oh goodie." Severus sat up straighter on the stiff cot, in a half assed attempt at playing host. "Would you like a chair? I can offer you a bunk bed or a milk crate to sit upon."

Hermione made a face before grabbing the milk crate, upending it and sitting upon it. "That was Ron's bunk," she explained. "I'd rather not sit there, if you catch my meaning."

Hermione bit back a smile as his expression turned to horror. "Don't worry, Severus. You're sitting in my bed. Nothing untoward happened in it – not as far as I'm aware. And at least I bothered to clean the sheets when I was able. Ordinarily, Ron does his laundry every four to six months, whether it needs it or not. "

Severus dropped the book he held in his lap. "I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies then."

"Very grateful. In comparison this tent is spotless right now. I can't even begin to describe how smelly this place was when the three of us inhabited it. Adolescent boys are dirty anyway, but…." Hermione shuddered with the chill of old memories.

"You needn't describe it to me, I am well aware of the hygiene habits of spotty teenagers."

"What kills me sometimes is how needless some of this was." She spread her arms wide to include the folding card table and dirty camp stove. "This couldn't have been part of some master plan for us. Professor Dumbledore couldn't have foreseen this; he didn't even know about this tent, anyway. Of all the details, the intricacies and intrigue, I struggle with understanding how there was no plan to take care of us. It's not like Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology prepared me to pick berries and snare rabbits to keep from starving."

It was too easy to slip into the trap of memories as they began to flood her thoughts. They had been so young and headstrong. She had believed she was prepared. Her list had seemed infallible; she'd packed supplies for whatever contingency into a single, highly-portable bag. At the time, this had given her the confidence to mount the imagined challenges. So naive...

Their raw youthfulness had barely been tested at Hogwarts. There was a wide world of difference between a Troll in the girl's bathroom and the battle that came. Professor Dumbledore had known what they were up against – he'd known it right from the start and allowed them to flounder about, stringing half-clues together. If Rita Skeeter hadn't written that tatty tell-all biography, they'd probably still be hunting Horcruxes.

A few quiet words from him wouldn't have gone amiss. Hell, even if he'd circled an important page in The Tales of the Beedle Bard, that would have been something…

Severus cleared his throat gently. "I don't think you were ever meant to live like this. I believe there were other contingencies for you and the other children. When Draco and I were forced into hiding, we stayed at a safe house that Albus had secured for us, but we never knew how we'd been played until Albus' plans revealed themselves."

"Like our marriage," she said sourly.

He nodded. "Like our marriage."

"Everything did go tits up, didn't it?" she said with a lopsided smile.

"Story of my life," Severus said affably.

He stretched, working kinks from his back, and reached to feel a knot that had formed at the crook of his neck. Giving up his book as a bad job, he stood and began opening up some ration tins.

"Since I surmise you're not going to depart my domicile any time soon, can I offer you some stale biscuits? Or I have a bag of Kneazle Kibble – now with more of that great tuna taste Kneazles love."

"Hm… I'm more of a chicken and cheese kind of girl."

"Snob," he snarked. Severus rummaged a bit more before producing an old tea tin. "What about a lovely cup of Tesco's finest?"

"How can I refuse an offer like that?"

Severus took a whiff of the tea canister and pulled a face. "On second thought, let's not. I cannot identify what has created the pong, but I believe the tea has been ruined. I suppose that just leaves the whiskey."

"Whiskey?"

Severus reached behind a milk crate and produced a nearly-empty old bottle of Johnnie Walker.

"The boys nicked that from Arthur's shed," she informed him.

The misty quality of her voice and faraway look did not go unnoticed by Severus.

"A sentimental bottle then? Something to save for when the Harry Potter Museum comes knocking?"

"I suppose you could say so. Although, I didn't approve of it at the time – obviously."

"Then perhaps it's best we left the bottle untouched."

"Agreed. And not just for memory's sake. You do realize it's not even noon, right?" Hermione pointed out in the tone of reproach she typically reserved for the boys. "I mean, I know it's five o'clock somewhere, but that somewhere is probably Indonesia."

Severus only raised an eyebrow. "In Indonesia, at this time of day, it wouldn't be amiss to drink a concoction of ginseng, vanilla, and fermented tea. I can make a Portkey. Would you like me to make that happen for you?"

"An _illegal _Portkey." Hermione rolled her eyes. "For a wizard who has just left Azkaban, you sure do come up with some pretty inventive ways of getting thrown back in. Why don't I just pop upstairs to get my things and we can go for a walk?"

Not bothering to wait for a response, Hermione took the initiative and headed for her flat.

As soon as she left, Ushanka sauntered in, issuing a loud, "Mrrroww!" which clearly conveyed, _I thought she'd never leave._

"Yes, well there is there is the small issue of it being her property," Severus addressed his feline companion.

Ushanka's tail twitched before she jumped up on the bedspread Severus had recently vacated and curled herself into a ball where the warm spot lingered.

"An_ illegal_ Portkey," Severus mimicked before taking a healthy swig of whiskey.

His robes wouldn't pass outside. He'd scare the locals. With a sigh, Severus changed into his white lawn dress shirt and set to rolling up the sleeves. He'd just uncovered the faint silver traces of his Dark Mark when Hermione bounded in.

"Hey, I just had a thought; today's vintage day under the Westway. Fancy tripping through some antiques to spruce up this place?"

Vintage was a word poor little rich kids used when they thought they were being cute by slumming it. Vintage shopping was a fun and exciting treasure hunt and not a necessity brought on by poverty. People who vintage shopped didn't go to charity shops and jumble sales just to scrape by. Severus scowled.

"You want to go shopping?" he said blandly.

"You could use a proper lamp in here," Hermione offered. "I used to keep Bluebell flames in glass jars, but always lamented the lack of a proper lamp."

"Why Muggle, Hermione? There are plenty of wizarding secondhand shops where anything we purchase wouldn't have to be refit with charms." He watched her tread from one foot to the other, gently as she formed an answer.

"You avoided Zabini's," Severus observed. "I haven't detected another magical signature on this block."

"There aren't any wizarding families close by," she answered calmly, jutting up her chin slightly. "There's a very nice elderly gentleman two streets up from here, but he's a Squib and his family shuns him."

"You're damn hard to find."

"I'm not supposed to be found," she countered, remembering quite clearly that she was overdue for her little chat with Harry. He had given her away to Severus and likely thought he was helping them both. She needed to rein in her reckless Gryffindor until she was certain they could truly trust Snape.

"The question remains. Why?"

"Do we have to talk about it now? I have the strangest craving for butter pastries and I know exactly the stall that sells them." Hermione gave Severus a teasing smile and held out her hand for their side-along Apparation.

There was a Ministry-approved Apparition point near the Chepstow Villas and Severus made a mental note not to side-along with Hermione anymore. Her technique was sloppy; the feeling of being sucked through a vacuum tube was common and of second nature to him, but she'd batted him about and left him feeling crushed and side-splitting. Their landing was atrocious too, so bad in fact that Hermione had to gasp hold of his sleeve to keep from falling over.

"Feeling faint?"

"Just a bit dizzy," she replied blurrily, her legs still shaky and unable to hold her up. Severus righted her with a guiding hand to her lower back and moved them out of the way of any incoming Apparating wizards. She breathed slowly, as he tilted her head back touching her neck softly. Her eyes remained slightly out of focus, Severus noted, pupils dilated and glassy. As he leant over her, Severus inhaled her lightly sweet perfume, scenting delicate notes of gardenia and freesia, her lips parted - and a stray thought entered his mind to taste her lips.

He withdrew and stepped back far enough to avoid the lingering scent of her alluring perfume, but Hermione held tight to his arm.

"This usually doesn't happen to me," Hermione said woozily. "I'm quite good at Apparition, actually."

"Yet your pupils are still dilated."

"It must have been the Headache Relief I took earlier then," she muttered. Hermione held on to his sleeve a moment longer as the revolving world righted itself. "It didn't taste off, but it might have been."

Severus gave her a keen look. "If you're feeling under the weather you should not have attempted a side-along in the first place. We could have been splinched. You should have alerted me, I am more than capable of transporting us."

"I'd never have splinched us. I've never splinched anyone! It was just a tension headache," Hermione gritted out, feeling the tension headache returning. "I'm feeling much better now," she lied.

There was only a half mile that separated Portobello Road and Elgin Crescent and yet on a bright and sunny Saturday, when all the loud stalls and arcades were open and every tourist clutching a guide to London was out bargain hunting, navigating the half mile was near impossible. Moving slowly with the herd of bodies, Hermione was able to nab her pastries and Severus a cinnamon scone.

At first he appeared tense and it was obvious to her that Severus did not like large crowds. Hermione wasn't fond of them either, but there was something appealing about the sights and sounds of the large public market. The crush of people, colorful vendors hawking cheap wares with a few gems mixed in, and the collectables from all time periods gave them so much to look at and consider.

Hermione was as shrewd a deal maker as he was. He could appreciate that quality in his wife. As originally they'd set out to hunt for a lamp, they examined all sorts of lamps, ignoring the cords and wiring in favor for the suitability to charms and overall aesthetic appeal, but when it came right down to it, Hermione wanted the best deal possible and wasn't afraid to walk away in favor of another stall further on.

Severus held up a battered and dingy pewter art nouveau lamp and nudged Hermione who was looking at a round modernist piece. Probably Swedish, Severus mentally scoffed.

"You like that one?" she whispered.

Severus felt the base, weighing it again in his hands. "It's of good weight and craftsmanship."

"Iris flowers?" She looked at him skeptically. "Rather feminine."

"My masculinity can withstand the judgment, and the lampshade is pristine."

Hermione's eyes lit up and she gently tapped the edge of the lampshade with the nail of her finger listening for the rattling pitch. "It is mica," she whispered more softly. "Might have been replaced though."

"Possibly."

Hermione scanned the price tag thoughtfully. "The problem is, these art nouveau pieces are rather fashionable and snapped up by idiot tourists willing to pay outrageous sums. This one isn't so bad, but it's going to be difficult to talk him down by twenty-five percent."

"Twenty-five?" Severus gave his wife a dubious look. She hadn't been successful talking any of the vendors down by twenty percent yet.

"My parents are fond of antiquing and used to drag me out when we had weekends together." Hermione shrugged. "It's given me an appreciation for the market. If he wants the sale, that's my price. Incidentally, I think you'll enjoy meeting my parents, Severus."

"Can I hope they're still in Australia?"

"Not hardly."

Just then a burled wood box caught Severus' eye. It was open to display a rather fetching collection of crystal Potions phials. Occasionally magical items made it into antique shops, labeled as miscellaneous; these were labeled as 'Antique Chemist Flasks.'

"Oooh, they are beautiful," Hermione said, admiring one of the vials. She noted the quiet gleam in his eye. Desire. "There's quite a bit of dust here; they've been sitting on the shelf for ages. You want?"

"Don't be silly. Glass is just as good as crystal and much more practical."

"Unless you're working with less stable ingredients," she pointed out. "Then crystal is the preferred carrier."

"Thank you for the first year lecture, Professor Granger. May I also remind you that I haven't got a lab and probably won't be working with less stable ingredients for some time."

"You will," she said confidently, lifting her chin.

Hermione deposited the lamp into Severus' hands and picked up the heavy case of Potions vials and brought it to the cash register with a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Severus listened impatiently as she bargained with the reedy man.

"Do you think they might make a good spice rack?"

"Honestly Ma'am, I don't know," he said in a harassed voice. "It's an antique."

"Well, what is it good for, then?"

He pulled his overlarge glasses off and proceeded to clean them thoroughly while working up an answer. "They're more of a display piece. If you had an Apothecary or Chemist shop, they'd be just the thing to put in your shop window."

"I haven't got a shop," Hermione said dismayed. "What about thirty percent off?"

"I can't do that."

"No? Are you sure?" Severus watched, amused as Hermione pouted and pushed out her hip. "Well what about the lamp?"

"What lamp?"

Severus held his lamp up.

"Will you take thirty percent off the lamp if I buy the flasks?"

"Sure."

"And I want fifteen percent off the flasks."

When they exited the small shop, Severus and Hermione traded quiet grins.

"I'm famished," she exclaimed.

A few streets up they found a café that had an available table, which was the best bit of luck they'd had all day. On the outside patio, they had the opportunity to watch all manner of people stream by as they perused the menu offerings. Under the guise of people watching, Severus examined his dining companion, his wife.

Were he the romantic sort, he could be inclined to say the way the sunlight hit her wavy chestnut hair brought out vivid streaks of gold and ochre, the warm colors of autumn, of long afternoons and dusky breezes. Except he wasn't a romantic sort, and her brown hair was only catching the light because it was unruly and escaping the haphazard ponytail she attempted to hold it back. Her face was still flushed with exuberance from her earlier triumph, and a small smile played around her lips as though she were the cat that had caught and eaten the canary.

Severus decided not to mention that in his years as a Potions master he'd only found crystal phials useful a handful of times. They were objects of lust, but any Potions master worth his brew was a hoarder of fine things. Small trinkets and tiny bits of this and that, which could be scraped up and used somehow, somewhere, in some potion. Though she'd bought them, for him, with nary a thought to the price – only to the hunt of the deal. Strange bird, his lovely wife.

Their waiter came by and they placed orders for lunch; that was when Severus seized the opportunity to surreptitiously add some discrete listening charms to their table. The noise of the crowd was a bit deafening, but he never left anything to chance. He heard her swift intake of air as she felt the cold trickle of charms wash over them, and the noise of their surroundings faded gently into the background.

"So, how is it you've come to live like a hermit, Hermione?" he asked, meaning to pick up their earlier conversation – the one she had attempted to avoid.

She stiffened, and the gentled smile disappeared from her lips. "I don't live like a hermit."

"You don't keep a Floo pot on your mantle."

"The Floo powder is kept in a cupboard," she replied defensively. "I rarely travel by Floo."

Severus took a sip of cool water and shot her a dismissive look. "Care to explain to me why that is? When you were nothing but a slip of a girl in my classes, with your hand waving dramatically in the air and following Potter into every one of his misdeeds, I expected you would grow into a witch of some great importance."

"Whoever said I haven't?"

He could watch her back teeth gnashing.

"My apologies, my comment was–"

"Arrogant? Condescending? Thank you for casting judgment on what constitutes success in life," she said tartly.

"I meant only that you appear to have Fallen Out," he replied sotto-voice. "It's not something I would have expected from you, Hermione. You had such potential."

She averted her eyes and was thankful for the interruption of their lunch arriving.

Falling Out was a term usually reserved for Muggle-borns who returned to Muggle life because they failed to integrate into wizarding society. It was a mark of failure and shame. Pure-bloods, highly critical of sending Muggle-borns to Hogwarts, loved learning of witches and wizards Falling Out. After the first war, Severus recalled the Prophet publishing statistics of how many Muggle-borns had left, but those numbers had been bunk, just as many pure-bloods had escaped or gone into hiding. His own mother had Fallen Out. She'd left rather than accept an arranged marriage, and been shunned by the Princes for it her entire life. But a scandal as big as The Falling Out of Hermione Granger, Hogwarts' best and brightest, would set every tongue wagging.

"I didn't Fall Out." Hermione tore viciously into her salad, chopping the thin greens into shreds. She looked up at him, into his expectant eyes and huffed. "I live off the grid so I can have some peace. I don't fancy the Prophet reporting on my social life and every movement. Plenty of wizards do the same."

"Don't like the attention?" he taunted.

"Do _you?_"

"Point taken," Severus conceded. "But surely they don't report on your every movement. It can't be that bad that you have to take such drastic measures."

Hermione looked up with a blank expression. "Yes. Yes, it is. Do you recall a student named Romilda Vane?"

"How can I forget," he cringed at the memory.

He was accustomed to teaching stupid, fawning, tickle-headed girls who wanted to spend their Hogwarts years in pursuit of an acceptable marriage contract by graduation. He would have happily written-off Vane as just another boy-obsessed witch except for her rare, natural gift with Potions. Stupidity and talent was a dangerous combination.

"Her graduate internship was with Rita Skeeter, before Skeeter retired to write novels full time. And Vane has inherited her mantle as the Gossip Columnist for the Prophet."

Hermione set her fork down and beset him with a look of intensity he'd not seen since the war. "She's pure evil."

Severus sat back and took a moment to watch the stream of Muggles pass by. She felt safer here amongst the mob; less chances of getting caught or recognized in the squeeze of humanity. There was safety in numbers, anonymity in a faceless crowd. He nodded quietly to himself.

"I have had every aspect of my life reported on," she began to elaborate. "Though, humorously enough, not our marriage, thank Merlin for small mercies. Every random encounter with an eligible bachelor reported as a date, and some of those were staged in advance by Romilda. Lovely witch."

Hermione grimaced and stabbed a tomato.

"Each time Ron and I broke up, it made headlines – front page, mind you. That was always delightful. And of course, before I moved to my current flat, she liked to publish personal details about how to find me so strange wizards and stalkers could show up at my workplace or home. She once convinced poor Gilderoy Lockhart, who's not quite right in the head, that I still have my schoolgirl crush on him, because she thought it would be hilarious to get a few tacky photos of us together under the headline of _Hermione Granger's New Heartthrob_."

Severus clenched the utensils in his hand and silently avowed to make life very unpleasant for Miss Vane.

"Steering clear of wizarding society has kept my life free of that drama," Hermione concluded, swiping her mouth with a napkin. "I have a life that's comfortable and a job I love, and well… until you showed up I thought that it would be like that forever."

"And just what do you do for a living?" Severus enquired politely.

"I'm one of the editor's assistants at the publishing firm that produces Ars Alchemica and Potions Quarterly - rags only fit to line owl cages, I believe you called them."

Severus succumbed to a coughing fit.

* * *

_When Hermione suddenly went pale,_

_No infirmity had caused her to ail._

_From pale she went flush,_

_Cheeks prettily blushed,_

_At the sight of his dark treasure trail._


	9. Chapter 9 Fishin'

**Chapter Nine - Fishin'**

"I have some errands to run today," she said. "Would it be too much to ask for you to accompany me?" Hermione asked Sunday morning, dropping in on him unexpectedly.

Well, it should have been unexpected when she tore open the front of the tent flap, but in all honesty, Severus was prepared for her arrival. An odd expectation had settled over his shoulders once he'd discovered her routine. It was simple and orderly and he liked it, too, but the tent he could do without.

As Severus was already dressed and awaiting her arrival, he gestured for her to go ahead and he followed her Apparition minutes later into Hogsmeade.

They spent part of the morning shopping in Hogsmeade. It seemed like Hermione required a few things from each shop; fortunately she didn't linger too much in any one place. Given what Hermione had mentioned regarding Miss Vane the day before, Severus browsed without paying attention to his companion. She browsed quickly, selecting the items she wanted without dawdling. For that, Severus was eminently thankful; he was not a fan of shopping either. Just before his tolerance for shopping was reached, Hermione turned to him looking a bit harried by her errands.

"I think that's everything. You want to go?"

Severus nodded.

"I'll side-along Apparate us," she offered, taking his arm. Before he could protest, they were sucked along the narrow tube that bent space and time. With a disgustingly loud crack, they reappeared in a small brick hut. Hermione wobbled again and clutched his arm.

"Your side-along hasn't improved." Severus growled. He thought he might sick up as well.

"Just give me a second to re-orient myself," she whispered to him as her head spun.

"Where are we?" he demanded.

"Home." Hermione took a few deep breaths of albeit dusty air and felt immeasurably better. Cramped and crowded, Severus attempted to stand fully before his head met a wooden beam.

"Sorry about that, Mum doesn't like us Apparating in the house; she thinks it's poor manners," she explained.

They stepped out and dusted off in a small fenced garden behind a brick row house. Severus only had a moment to absorb his new surroundings before a woman of short stature and bearing a remarkable likeness to his wife came down from the stoop. He took stock of her rolled up sleeves and gardener's tan, and she didn't bother to hide her appraisal of his person either. Hermione nervously thrust forward the bouquet of jonquils they'd picked up. "Hi, Mum."

"Hello, dearest. My, aren't these grand? Best to put them in water."

After giving Severus one more keen look, she turned towards the back door and fiddled with the latch. The door did not give. She put her shoulder into it.

"Oh, this old thing's warped. Just give me a minute to jimmy it. Your father was supposed to take care of it ages ago – fat lot of good my nagging has done."

"If only you could find a witch," Severus said drily. "Someone who knows magic and can repair it with a few words."

She stopped and turned on him, her lips pursed disdainfully.

"We don't approve of magic around here. It makes you weak. What kind of a person would you be if all you had to do was say a few words and get everything you ever wanted?" She arched her eyebrow in challenge. "Slovenly. Weak and feckless. No. No, thank you. We'll manage on our own. Hard work makes true prosperity – not your silly wand-waving. Now, Hermione, have some manners, sweetheart. Introduce this man you've brought here."

Hermione blushed.

"Severus Snape," he said smoothly, extending his hand.

"The Potions master?" she asked.

"The very one." How much had his wife said about him?

"I suppose then you're all right," she responded, shaking hands. "Bonnie Granger. I apologize for the feckless comment. Our daughter always spoke highly of you. But I'll warn you now; I haven't been much impressed with the wizards I've met. Speaking of – Ronald isn't joining us today, then?"

"No, Mum."

"Thank heavens. I don't have much in the larder and don't fancy it being cleared out."

Bonnie turned back to the stuck door, butting her shoulder at it for another hard budge. Severus quietly flicked a spell toward the sagging door frame and it clicked open for them.

"Ah then! Some water for the flowers – Hermione. And I'd best get George."

She shouted upstairs while Severus roamed the small home. It was laid out similarly to Spinner's End and had probably been built around the same time, only the Granger's home was a tad bigger and obviously well cared for and modernized. They probably thought of it as having vintage charm.

Bonnie stopped to tie up the strings of her apron as Hermione grabbed one from the hook on the wall. Just then a Muggle, who Severus presumed to be Hermione's father George, descended the stairs. As tall as Severus and quite fit, George Granger was graying and had succumbed to the temptation of being a bit frumpy in his old age. He wore a tweed sport coat over a wool jumper and when he came near, Severus detected the scent of cloves and scotch.

George offered his hand and a genial smile. "George Granger. So, you are the feared Potions master, eh? Good on you! Not every day our little girl invites someone over. What's the occasion?"

Out of the corner of his eye he spied Hermione's back straighten as she became very still. "Hermione invited me," Severus lied. He'd been Shanghai'd. And he would get even with his dear little wifey when they got back to the flat. "I've been under the weather and she thought fresh air would do me some good. We're neighbors."

That was not an untruth. As long as Severus resided in the tent out back, they were neighbors. He was not about to say a single word on the subject of marriage. As far as they were concerned, their marriage would soon be annulled by the Wizengamot – there was no need to invite family drama.

"You should have called ahead," Bonnie scolded her daughter.

"Nonsense," George interjected. "I've plenty of extra gear – it's no trouble at all."

"Gear?" Severus asked, bewildered. What had that daft witch gotten him into?

Bonnie vigorously dried her hands off with a dish towel. "Supper will be ready by the time you boys come back."

"Not if we bring supper with us," George asserted.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, in the same fashion he'd caught Hermione doing many times. "That would require you actually catching something."

George planted a kiss on her cheek. "I'll catch one," he assured her playfully. "I always catch the best looking one," he said, giving her bum a pinch.

"Go!" Bonnie swatted him with her dish towel. "Out you go – the both of you. And don't come back til you've learned some manners."

George grinned conspiratorially at Severus before clapping him about the shoulders. "C'mon, we'll get you kitted up through here."

When it became apparent they were heading out into Muggle territory, Severus shed his robe, unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, rolled back the sleeves, and told himself to act calm – be natural – do not glare at the Muggles. He knew they were going to go out and ostensibly do some 'male bonding.' He was going to attempt to bond with Hermione Granger's father. This was a rite of passage. A ritual of manhood. Severus steeled himself.

He could manage it. He was fit, and up to the task. Not that he thought he'd be asked to kill a mountain lion with his bare hands or whatnot… hopefully not. But this was uneven ground that Severus hadn't tread before. When he'd been old enough for such things with his own Da, the rift between them had been insurmountable. Then again, his Da hadn't been the sort of man George appeared to be. George handed him a long cylindrical tube with a strap to carry and they shuffled off together, foregoing the car and walking instead. The walk was good. Healthy, fresh ocean air breezed about, without calling Azkaban to memory. With the sun above and tea roses spilling over well tended fences, there was no likening the two.

When they came to the end of the drive, Severus and George veered off onto a worn path into the woods. After several minutes of following the path they heard the sounds of a strong stream. Severus pursed his lips and considered the box George carried.

So, it was fishing, then.

The knowledge did not make him feel any better. He would have preferred pistols at dawn. Severus didn't know a damn thing about fishing. He'd certainly never caught a fish. He'd never killed anything four-legged either, come to think of it. Not that fish had legs, but he was just as out of his element.

He also considered this fact. They'd have to inscribe it on his tombstone – if he got one.

**Here lies Severus Snape – Rightful bastard and friend to animals.**

The tubes produced rods. Severus took mental notes as George screwed them together and added reels.

"Nymphs or woolly-buggers?" George asked.

Severus was dumbfounded, but given the choice between the two, he knew which one he preferred. "Nymphs."

George grunted. "Good choice. You've never done this before – have you?"

Severus shook his head.

"Right – I'll tie your line this time, but watch closely. A man ought to be able to tie his own."

Severus fell in line with George, taking his cues from the older man as they stood on the bank of the little stream, dragging and tossing nymphs into the water. Other than the stream, it was quiet and contemplative. If there was some great mental challenge to the act of throwing a line out, Severus missed it, but he liked the repetition just the same. Standing there waiting for a bite was soothing. Odd, that.

Relaxed in the moment, he almost missed George turning to him.

"So, Severus," he said, breaking the silence. "How long have you been seeing my daughter?"

Severus choked, but recovered.

"We're just neighbors."

"Oh."

He thought that might end the conversation, and in truth they stood there quietly watching fish swim by, sometimes so close Severus knew if he just whipped out his wand they'd have a fine catch for dinner, but such was not meant to be the case.

"You know, she's never really invited friends over. And certainly not boys, unless you count Ronald – which I don't."

Severus hummed. He didn't count Ronald Weasley either. Not for anything.

George moved closer to Severus and lowered his voice. "Bonnie thought it was her fault, you know. You must have noticed we're a bit older. She blamed herself for Hermione's oddities – thought it was a birth defect from having children too late."

Birth defects, smoking marijuana, playing with Ouija boards as children... Muggles invented all sorts of reasons of why they produced magical offspring. How little did they know there were pure-blood families who would sacrifice blood and fortune to have children half as magically gifted as Hermione? And yet, these people thought it was their fault; as if there was something wrong with her.

"My daughter wasn't exactly accepted by the other children…" Severus watched as George stumbled in his own memories, his eyes misting over with time. "We encouraged her to ignore it, of course. We told her academics were more important than making friends or socializing – sometimes I worry that was the wrong choice, but we were trying. She was a handful. Every time she became upset – something happened. At first we thought the wiring in this old place, but no."

Severus nodded. It was a common story he'd heard many times. Even Lily who'd been popular and liked by the children in her class had felt ostracized occasionally.

"Well, when we found out she was a witch – a real one – we were relieved. I can't begin to tell you how much of a relief it was to know there wasn't anything wrong with her, she's just… different. Our special girl." George nodded to himself as if it settled the matter.

"And then when she went to that school, well… it felt like she hadn't left home at all. All of her problems followed her. From what I'm told, she didn't fit in there either."

"Hermione did have friends, Sir." Severus felt prompted to speak up on her behalf. They were mouth breathing, fuckwitted, troublesome friends, but they were also loyal to her.

George sighed. "Yes. She has a few close friends, or so we're told. Then again, she talked for two years about her best friend Matilda before we discovered Matilda didn't actually exist. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm not sure that I do."

"This is kind of a big deal for us – you being here. It just doesn't happen. Hermione doesn't bring friends over to the house, and she certainly doesn't bring men over. We almost despaired of her meeting anyone. You don't have to tell me anything – you're her neighbor, and I accept that, but please, just promise me one thing –" George paused, waiting in anticipation.

"Oh?"

"Be good to my little girl."

Severus nodded. Of the promises he could make this Muggle, this one he could keep.

"I will."

George's eyes lingered on Severus a little more before his hand fished in his pocket, producing a flask.

* * *

Hermione was at the sink washing potatoes, and she swore she could feel her mother's eyes on the back of her head. Impulsively bringing Severus along with her had been a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

"So, princess, how long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Mum! We're not dating."

"Well, I hope you're using protection."

When the afternoon began to give way to dusk, the men, only slightly toasted, called it a day. Hermione was setting the dinner table when Severus entered the house. Upon seeing her, he smiled. She hadn't noticed his arrival, and didn't realize she was being watched. He simply observed her. There was nothing special about the way she placed the silver, or smoothed out the linen table cloth, nothing extraordinary about the thick curl that had come undone from her barrette, and nothing uniquely attractive about the way she nibbled on her lower lip, but seeing her made him smile. The rush of affection towards the witch was only a mild nuisance. Severus shook himself of it.

They'd be divorced soon enough and their marriage would be no more. He'd still be a miserable ex-Death Eater, and she'd still be Hermione Granger – the wizarding world's most famous witch.

"And?" Bonnie asked, greeting her husband with a kiss. "Did you leave any trout in the stream?"

"We did, my dear. Severus and I were very charitable today. We caught dozens of fish – big ones, big enough to feast upon, but then we got to thinking about social responsibility." George sighed dramatically. "We had to throw them all back. Not that I expect a thank you from my ungrateful little girl."

"A thank you?" Hermione frowned. "For what?"

"We did our part saving the environment for the next generation."

Hermione snorted. "My father, the humanitarian. I'm sorry if I don't have a medal to present you."

"It's ok – this time I'll be altruistic and not accept reward for my good deeds. But there is supper?"

Bonnie called over her shoulder. "It'll be on the table in ten."

George gave Severus a wicked smile. "More than enough time to pop into the study for a nip."

Dinner with the Grangers was a chattering affair. They asked questions – nosey questions. No wonder as a child she always had her hand waving in the air. The parents did nothing to curb her either. No, even the most mundane and speculative conversation was fueled with constant questions and opinions, lightly punctuated with references to what was read or heard on the news. Certainly this wasn't anything like the environment he'd grown up in. Dinner in the Snape household – when they bothered to sit as a family – consisted of the rattle of dishes. Questions were met with one word answers. A strange jealousy rose in his belly – he didn't want to belong at the table – didn't want to become one of them, because he wasn't. He was a Snape, and therefore, shouldn't.

And yet somewhere between spearing a roasted potato and listening to speculation on some distant volcano, Severus got suckered in; sweetly pulled into conversation without realizing it, and it was good. Lured into the trap of a relaxing meal and good conversation, Bonnie turned on him. He really had to keep an eye out for the Grangers.

"What's it like to be a professor at Hogwarts?"

He was an ex-professor, but Severus had enough of his wits about him not to fall into that potential minefield. If the family was unaware that he'd spent the last six years rotting in Azkaban, so be it. It was likely better that way. Knowing someone had been in prison had a way of changing people's perceptions about you – not that being a Death Eater wasn't enough.

His typical short answer about teaching at Hogwarts was that it was hell. Only, he'd experienced hell before and found that he liked Hogwarts better.

"It's a demanding job," Severus said honestly. "There's no such thing as personal time, and it's not unusual to be woken up in the middle of the night to attend to one of the children. You're constantly scrutinized by the staff and students. Meticulously watched as you chew every bit of your food – a habit your daughter was fond of – yes, I was aware of your preoccupation. And despite it being absolutely draining, you can't let your guard down for a second."

Severus paused to clear his throat and take a sip of water.

"But – I'd never trade the experience for anything else. Teaching at Hogwarts is the most singularly worthwhile thing I've ever done with my life."

"From what I understand, which isn't much, the school provided our daughter with a top-notch education."

Severus raised his glass. "Hermione was an exceptional student."

Hermione blushed becomingly.

"That may be all well and good," Bonnie said pursing her lips, "but if we had to do it all over again, I wouldn't let any of you lot near my daughter."

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed. "Please, mum, no."

"For a school to conscript its students is beyond reprehensible. All the administrators should be put behind bars for forcing children to fight."

"I beg your pardon?" Severus asked.

"When our daughter was conscripted, she was told they wouldn't even give her a concy waiver like her Grandpa Jack."

"A what?" What the hell had she told her parents? Severus looked at Hermione, who was intently studying her plate.

He thought of her as she had been then – rail thin, starved and half mad from constantly being on the run and carrying a cursed locket, her fingers always itching for her wand. He'd glimpsed her only a handful of times in the Scrying Glass while trying to track Potter's location. He never had the luck of watching them long enough to get a destination, but it was a relief just to see they were alive. Hermione Granger would never have been a conscientious objector.

"Our daughter is a pacifist. I've been taking her to Progressive Women's meet-ups since she was knee high, and they took her out of class and put her in a foxhole. Shame on you. Shame on all of you."

Severus coughed. "It didn't quite happen that way."

"Excuse me, wizard, but when a school that is supposed to protect my daughter and her classmates put wands in their hands and order them to defend the castle against invaders it sounds very much like that." Bonnie paused to make a sour face. "Your people are supposed to be the advanced society, genteel and civilized and yet what you've done is beastly. A final battle? At a school, with children warriors and a boy savior no less? Thank god I'm Muggle."

At that moment, Severus Snape decided if the opportunity ever presented itself he would like very much to introduce Mrs. Granger to Lucius Malfoy.

Severus arched his eyebrow and looked at Hermione. "Are you going to tell your parents or do I have to?"

"Severus was one of the good guys," Hermione interjected, attempting to change the subject with a false smile. "Did you know he was responsible for saving all the books in the library? When that side of the building collapsed, they said it was his extra warding that protected seven hundred years worth of manuscripts and irreplaceable documents." She weakly smiled.

"The wizard who placed the Memory Charm on us was one of the good guys, too," Bonnie retorted.

George offered Severus a sympathetic glance.

"Have you any idea what that was like?"

"I can't imagine," he replied honestly.

"You can't erase a child. A mother knows. A mother always knows." Her eyes softened. "I knew the whole time something was deeply wrong and couldn't do anything – it was agony."

"I'm sorry for your pain," Severus said gently. "There were a lot of unpleasant things that happened; it was a time of war."

"Hmmph! For the greater good? That's what we were told right before our memories were tampered with. You know what's for the greater good? Personal liberties. Freeing your poor enslaved house-elves is for the greater good. Socialism is for the greater good."

"Alright dear, that's enough," George interrupted. "Dinner was fabulous, as always, but I think it's time Severus and I had a moment aside."

A meaningful glance was exchanged between the Grangers, a sort of Muggle Legilimency that held suspended in the air before Bonnie nodded slightly and let out a sigh. Then, despite all the talk of progress and equality of the sexes, Severus and George retreated to his study at the top of the stairs while the ladies cleared the table and washed up.

"I don't get the opportunity to read many of your Daily Prophets; Hermione likes to hide them from us," George started, pulling a cut glass decanter from the back shelf of an armoire. "But if you are who I think you are - the bloke who spied undercover for Dumbledore; I'd like to share my best bourbon with you."

Severus didn't quite know how to respond.

As twilight approached, it became time for Severus and Hermione to depart. Severus was clapped heartily on the back by George and warmly invited to return, on the requirement that he tie his own line like a man and not fish the whole creek dry. Severus stood by solemnly as the Grangers enveloped Hermione in a hug that left Bonnie a bit misty eyed, and there were quiet assurances that she would return next Sunday. Severus looked away as Hermione glanced in his direction. Then they tottered off to the bricked hut, which was far too low for Severus' head.

"That went well, I should think," she said tentatively.

"Which part?" Severus asked. "The kidnapping or dinner?"

He took a moment to observe her crestfallen face with an amused smirk. He leaned into her, brushing his nose against her cheek in the enclosed space. "That's the last time you abduct me, Hermione. Otherwise, it was a lovely evening." Wrapping his arms around her smaller frame, Severus demonstrated the proper technique required for a side-along Apparition.

* * *

_For her parents Granger was wishin'._

_She took Snape without his permission._

_For her he had lied,_

_(Though he'd been Shanghai'd!)_

_Then bonded with Dad while fly fishin'._


	10. Chapter 10 Potions

**Chapter Ten - Potions**

The days passed in the strange way that they had a habit of doing. At some point, Severus looked up and wondered, _it's Wednesday already? _There was a rhythm to the household.

They shared breakfast – coffee or tea, depending on who got up first to make the pot. Severus learned to keep the paper for later in favor of light conversation with Hermione. Not that breakfast was a chatty affair, but he knew that he'd be without proper conversation most the day, so he tried to get it in when he could. Before she left for work, she'd give him a small wave and a soft smile. There was almost always a quiet discussion about who would 'house-elf dinner.'

Severus would almost always play the house-elf. Not that he minded much, it gave him something to do. She let him mess around in the kitchen and never bothered him about it.

Hermione's schedule was completely unpredictable. On good days she arrived home at five so Severus knew how long he had to waste during the afternoon and what time he needed to be back to start dinner, but most days she came home quite late, though she had the good sense to ring and tell him. Finding ways to fill the gaps in his afternoons was important since all he really looked forward to was dinner and conversation with Hermione.

He'd spent much of Monday with Harry's family, meeting for the first time little Albus, who he'd heard so much about. Ginny had been visibly anxious and fretted when Albus burped up on him, but she relaxed when Severus didn't chop up the tyke for potions ingredients. Eventually she came to accept what her husband had told her – he couldn't be a mean, hateful git all the time. Sometimes he had to sleep and wash behind his ears.

Tuesday was spent comfortably reading and catching up on the news of the world, both Muggle and wizarding. None of the papers had anything positive to report. Severus surmised he hadn't missed much during his incarceration – they were all swiftly heading towards wreck and ruin.

When he finally made it down to the used paperback bookstore, the only book he purchased was on fly fishing. The pictures were enthralling and he thought that if only he had a handful of bits he could start making his own wooly buggers. It was a strange and exciting prospect, one that interested him far more than he ever expected. Come Sunday, he wouldn't beg, but he might pester Hermione into making a return trip to her home.

Wednesday he discovered technology. He was already familiar with the telly, but Hermione showed him how to work the disc player, and he discovered all those little box things that looked like plastic books contained movies – many of whose plots were copied straight from books. Before he knew it, Hermione stuck her head through the door interrupting a rousing speech by Queen Elizabeth as the Spanish Armada was advancing and asked him to turn the volume down so she could sleep.

Thursday, he felt a bit churlish for being unproductive and resolved to find a job. The offhand remark she delivered at the breakfast table might also have contributed to the search. This time though, he resolved to find employment that Hermione would approve of, or at least something that wouldn't land him right back in Azkaban. The economy was tight – he heard that phrase everywhere. A lot of jobs weren't available and he was not going to sit in the sweatshop backroom of Scrivenshafts cutting quills for ten Knuts a quill.

And then when the only thing he'd been looking forward to on the calendar was Date Night on Friday, Hermione casually reminded him to make sure his robes were clean and serviceable for Monday.

"What's Monday?" Severus asked at the breakfast table, furrowing his brow.

She grabbed her car keys from the little dish she kept them in and tugged her purse over her shoulder. "Our court date, remember? To have our marriage annulled."

His cup of tea clattered onto its saucer.

Distantly he heard the click of the latch closing as Hermione departed.

Severus sat there with his tea cooling for an indeterminable amount of time unable to form a thought in his head. Shock, he reminded himself, as he snapped out of it. Ushanka budged up against his leg and let out a loud, "Mrrrrow!" He looked down at his scruffy familiar and sighed.

"You'll probably fare better out on your own than I will."

She bumped her head against his leg again and Severus leaned over to pick her up. Ushanka's thick grey fur fanned out across his chest and she laid her tail on the breakfast table. Severus would have commented about that, and removed it, but Ushanka butted her face underneath his chin and snuggled into his collarbone with a deep purr and Severus found that he didn't give a damn if her fur landed in his cold tea or not.

He gave his cat a good scratch as she purred and rumbled deeply. Severus sat back and let his eyes traverse Hermione's small flat, feeling an unwelcome pain. This was his wife's home and he would be out. Out of the house and out of her heart. No, Severus sadly corrected, he'd probably never been in her heart.

"Do you think she'll give us the tent?" Severus asked.

Ushanka glared at him with baleful pale green eyes. She hadn't been concerned with the tent since she'd located Hermione's magically-charmed kitty door. She moused outside when the thrill of the hunt called to her, otherwise she preferred overstuffed cushions and areas where she could bait and taunt the ginger tom. But a roof was a roof. And they would need one over their heads.

Severus couldn't imagine living out of a cave like the mongrel dog Snuffles.

Yes, Hermione would give them the tent, if Severus asked nicely. She might even allow him to keep the small plot of land in the back garden and continue to use her bathroom. The tightness Severus felt in his chest had little to do with needing to use her toilet or wanting to watch the rest of her film collection.

"Do you think we'll still get to visit?" He asked this quietly, muffled into the rich ruff of her fur. Ushanka wouldn't answer; she just flexed her claws into his chest rhythmically, kneading him. For reasons that were best left between a wizard and his familiar, he could ask these questions and not feel ashamed about his vulnerability.

Had it been two weeks? Not nearly. And not nearly enough time to decide what to do next. To hell with that – he'd thoughtlessly squandered his time getting fat, slovenly and complacent, living off of Hermione Granger like Toby Snape off of Eileen Prince. She'd been his unwanted wife from his undesired marriage and then…

Ushanka reached a paw up and touched his cheek.

Severus looked down into her unblinking eyes. They were the color of sea water, so clear and so wide, and he felt honesty and trust shining back at him. She got up from his chest with a stretch that caused all the fur on her back to stick straight up and abruptly jumped down to the floor. Any magical answer he'd been waiting for her to impart was immediately dismissed. Instead the large cat sauntered over to the stuffed chair in the living room that Crooksy generally called his own, walked around twice, and curled up in a ball of fluff, having found her home.

"Well, I suppose that settles it then."

Hermione had mentioned wanting to spend Date Night at the curry shop. There had been nights at Azkaban when some of his guards had brought in vindaloo. The scent of it had permeated the thick walls of the prison, making every shackled man moan and salivate for a warm morsel of tikka. It's said every man has a price, and in some of those hollow, moonless nights Severus would have done unspeakable acts for tandoori chicken, but not tonight.

She kept the house purse in a tea bin over the icebox. There were several pound notes folded up and Galleons thrown in at the bottom. If this were their last proper Date Night, Severus thought he ought to cook. Severus took a moment to scratch a small shopping list together, then after giving the telephone a considering glance, he rang up the Granger residence. George and Bonnie were delighted to help Severus plan a special dinner for Hermione. The corner grocer was right out, but Severus had spotted a large Sainsbury when they were out and Apparated nearby.

Severus prowled, treading the floorboards of her flat with a keen eye on the clock. The hors d'œuvre were set out, the first and second courses were at the ready, and desert was chilling. Hermione was picky about her sweets, but Bonnie had mentioned éclairs were her mortal weakness. Every detail had been attended to with complete consideration. The only missing detail was Hermione. It was over fourteen minutes past, but she hadn't called to say she'd be late.

She stormed in like a gale of wind on a frosty day, slamming the door behind her and stomping her feet as she shook off her purse and hung up her coat. Instantly her wand was out, and Severus felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle up. He'd always felt comfortable in her modest flat, but the warding she placed on her door, the warding he felt ooze over them and cover the entire abode, made him feel instantly on point. As if called by her, Crookshanks and Ushanka roused from their mid-day catnaps and ran in from her bedroom, their needle-like nails clattering lightly on the wooden floors. Their tails were up, as was the thick fur on their backs, standing straight on end as the cats sniffed delicately for danger.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Severus asked, palming his wand, assuming a defensive pose.

She spun, her eyes sharp and glinting, but upon seeing him, her posture slipped, softened and defeated.

"Oh, Severus," Hermione moaned, dropping in a heap into her couch. "She found out about the court date. I should have known an empty entry on the court docket would arouse suspicion."

Severus remained silent as Hermione fished a creased and folded up cover page from the Daily Prophet from her hip pocket.

"I stopped subscribing years ago," she mumbled. "But Harry brought this to my attention today."

**HERMIONE GRANGER AND SEVERUS SNAPE?**

_This intrepid reporter, Romilda Vane, your number one news source, may have just uncovered the most closely guarded secret. I have learned from reliable news sources deep within the Ministry that Hermione Granger, the Final Battle Threesome-witch, and Severus Snape, newly released Azkaban prisoner and so-called-ex-Death Eater, will be in court together Monday!_

_What legal business could possibly bring this unlikely pair together? For detailed analysis and speculation, turn to page…_

Severus crumpled the already well-worn Prophet and tossed it aside.

"If they knew something tangible, it would have been in the headline. All they have is a court date and our names," he said softly.

"I know," Hermione moaned. "I know that. It's hearsay and gossip… and that's how it starts. It's a closed court, but someone will probably talk, and then Romilda will know our business and for us, it will be nothing but scrutiny and flashbulbs. I can't have it, Severus. It will jeopardize the security of my work and risk…"

Hermione looked so small and lost, delicate and fragile, not at all like the madwoman who had stormed in with her wand blazing moments earlier.

_Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones. _Severus thought.

Sticks and stones were easy. Sticks and stones could be deflected, blasted and redirected, with defensive and offensive posturing. And Hermione had become a fierce duelist in her own right.

_But words can never hurt me._ Bollocks!

Words could hurt and cut just as much as any knife, and Hermione hadn't learned to parry those. Truthfully, he hadn't either. He'd once been outmatched by an idiot boy shouting, _"coward!"_

Gently grasping her jaw, Severus turned Hermione's face to look down into her rich brown eyes, noting with a hum of displeasure her pooling of tears. "You shouldn't cry."

"I'm not crying," she sniffed valiantly.

"Of course you're not; you're only overproducing lachrymational fluid. Silly me." He shared a small smirk with her. "I'll take care of Romilda."

Hermione recoiled from his hand, shrinking back. "You won't kill her."

Severus winced. Was it his history? His background? Yes, possibly. Probably. She must think him a monster. They all must think him a bloodthirsty killer. Hermione immediately assumed he was going to murder Romilda. He felt a twinge of sorrow that she didn't think better of him, but then he was a labeled man.

Death Eater.

Dumbledore-killer.

_Slytherin._

With false composure, Severus calmly answered her. "No, I won't kill her."

"Please promise me you won't," she pleaded.

"I don't have to promise you anything!" he growled in frustration, his voice rising. "I'm not a killer."

"Oh."

Breath rose and fell in his chest, but he felt empty for it. The moment passed, the two of them standing there in silence until the silence felt awkward and messy.

Severus sighed. "I made dinner and you look like you need to sit down. Eat with me, Hermione and let's forget Romilda."

"Oh, I couldn't." Her face screwed up. "I can't possibly look at food, not with this pounding headache. Actually, I think I might get sick."

She fled. Left him standing in the front room feeling bereft.

He heard her rummage above the sink, then swear. Severus' ears perked up when Hermione mumbled something about being out of potions. Turning on the heel of his boot, he advanced into the bathroom.

She tossed an empty brown phial into the wastebasket and looked after it longingly.

"I should have gotten more when I was out, but I forgot."

Severus reached past Hermione and fished the potion phial out of the wastebasket. "Store-bought," he grunted tetchily. "It's comforting to know all those hours I spent grading extra feet of parchment weren't all for naught."

"Yes, well pardon me for not having a full Potions laboratory and enough spare time to do all my own brewing," she snarked back. Hermione gripped the corner of the sink counter as a bout of wooziness asserted itself.

Severus noticed this immediately. He placed his hands at her hips, and hoisted her up before she could protest, depositing her deftly on top of the countertop next to the sink. Having taught mouth-breathing fuckwits for the better part of his adult life he was a bit of an expert in the field of headaches and migraines.

"Now," he said, placing one hand at the back of her head cradling her skull. "Describe for me your pain."

"It hurts a lot. And everything I do seems to make it worse."

"Yes, that's very good, Granger, but not quite full marks. Is it ocular? Muscular? Left side dominant? Right side dominant? Frontal? Omni?"

Severus pulled his wand out and cast a simple detection spell. It fizzled and died. He frowned.

"Please describe how your headache formed and be as descriptive as possible."

"Ugh, yes, but can you dim the lights please?" Hermione asked.

Severus obliged, but noted the shape of her enlarged pupils first.

"All day I've had this… thing. It's like a bad buzzing in the back of my head. It just gets louder and louder and hurts. And I've been dizzy, like everything spins."

"When you say spins – are you spinning, or is the world around you spinning?" Severus asked.

Hermione paused to think. "Oh! I'm spinning. Inside my head, like a gyroscope. Or maybe like one of those funny little objects Professor Dumbledore used to keep in his office, but the world outside my head is stationary… I think. No, wait, I'm sure that it is. Only I'm spinning."

"So you're lightheaded," Severus said in his teaching voice. "If you'd said the world outside your head was spinning, you would have a case of vertigo. Have you had any disruption to your field of vision or floaters?"

"What?" Hermione looked at him aghast. "Of course not. I just need more Headache Relief."

Severus rubbed fiercely at his brow. The lemon and chicken soup could cook down over night. It would probably taste better the next day anyway. The whipped potatoes were golden and done to absolute perfection. They would complement the braised wild salmon steaks, which were Hermione's favorite, and would play off the flavors of the freshly steamed asparagus in balsamic demi-glace. It was best eaten fresh and pipping hot, which they were tonight, but he knew… his dinner plans were ruined.

"I'll get you the Headache Potion you need, Hermione," he said sullenly. "If you lie down, will you eat some chicken soup?"

She made a face of disgust. "I can't eat."

"You can't go to bed hungry, you really will give yourself a headache. What about an éclair? Could you stomach that?"

"Oh yes," Hermione licked her lips. "I think I might just be able to."

He tucked her into her bed with a plate of freshly made éclairs and a hungry look in her eyes, and Severus stalked off, turning out lights as he went, leaving the cats to tend to her. They did, both of them running into the bedroom, in tandem, with their fluffy tails in the air. Severus took a moment to watch the strange pair of familiars and shook his head. Odd beasts.

Below her flat, in the neglected community garden, Severus headed for the hidden tent in the back corner. Inside, stacked in a neat and orderly fashion were the sized-down boxes, the remnants of his Hogwarts possessions Augusta had kept for him. Most of them had been packed and crated when he'd accepted the DADA position. By the time he'd been named Headmaster, only a few sets of robes and some particularly fine quills actually belonged to him.

Severus looked upon the stacked boxes with a mix of trepidation. He'd not seen much of the contents in many years, and worried at their state. His eyes scanned the labels and warnings, skimming for the right box. He found it at the bottom of the pile.

**Potions Class Supplies Year One**

Severus didn't have a Potions laboratory, but when pressed, he could cobble one together. He unshrunk the box and stood back as the deep pong of mushroom mildew assailed his nostrils.

"Fucking house-elves."

He removed the standard size 2 pewter cauldron and brass scales, then giving the decaying ingredients and the hundreds of rolls of students' homework that the house-elves had lovingly tucked into the box a longsuffering and disgusted look, Severus Vanished the sum of it.

Cogitating for three minutes on Hermione's symptoms, Severus gritted his teeth and mentally reviewed options before spinning around, letting his eyes roam the tent for useful items. A tatty bag inked with _Weasley Is Our King!_ was grabbed, as were a folding knife and a smelly old sock.

He growled beneath his breath, "The things I do for you, Hermione," before Apparating. Reappearing on top of a moonlight knoll, Severus landed atop what he was looking for; taking the folding knife out, he sawed off several hanks of Knotgrass and stowed them in the bag. He paused and listened for the sound of the stream that wasn't far. Lighting the tip of his wand, Severus walked the well-tread path towards it. At the bank of the stream he hovered his wand tip over the muddy shore and sent a vibration into the earth. He waited.

Flobberworms appeared at the surface.

Severus continued to visit his old and familiar haunts to collect needed ingredients, greeting them like old friends, except for when one of the thrice-damned Pixies bit his neck. And the children wondered why he wore concealing clothing. He worked quickly and efficiently, knowing she was at home and in a fair amount of agony, but the potion would not need long.

Returning to the tent, he set the cauldron to heat and began to prepare the fresh ingredients on what makeshift space he could, using crate covers as chopping boards and a folding knife as deftly as he'd used some of his best hand-crafted potions knives. The potion coalesced, thickened and shimmered, turning from watery brown to vivid turquoise in three minutes. As it cooled, Severus smiled at his work under duress and the mess of ingredients and discarded Flobberworm entrails that spread across Ronald Weasley's old bunk.

The smile stayed on his lips as he reached for one of the crystal phials Hermione had purchased for him in the antiques store, as it seemed best fitting. Once bottled, he looked at the phial. He didn't normally admire most potions, but this one was pretty and presented nicely. Hermione, he thought, would probably like that sort of thing, at least until she tasted it.

Not sparing more time for any admiring or backwards glances, Severus strode forward, the precious concoction securely held between his hands as he made his way swiftly to her flat. Severus made his way through the front door as quietly as possible, and paused briefly at the door to her room. There, he realized she'd fallen asleep. Two whiskered heads lifted from the bed to glare at him for the interruption.

Severus stepped silently to her bedside where he noted with a small bit of satisfaction that she had at least eaten. His plate of éclairs was cleaned, and all that remained were the smallest smudges of chocolate at the corners of her lips, above her lips, on her chin, and only a few crumbs on the bed sheets. Severus chortled softly, mindful not to disrupt Hermione's slumber, lest he invite the ire of the glaring cats.

He placed the brew at her bedside and touched her forehead gently.

"Sleep well, Hermione. Feel better."

* * *

_Collecting in deft, practiced motions_

_Flobberworms and other such notions,_

_He eased her head's pain_

_Again and again,_

_It was love he brewed into potions._

Limerick by Christev


	11. Chapter 11 Ill?

**Chapter Eleven – Ill?**

In the early light of morning, Severus dressed himself with great care and sent his doe Patronus ahead to request a meeting. A sleepy sounding stag immediately responded. After checking on his still-sleeping wife and her untouched potion, he quietly Apparated away.

Harry greeted him at the door with a finger at his lips. "The boys are asleep," he whispered. "This way."

Severus nodded politely to Ginny who was still in her housecoat and looking quite put out by the interruption, as he followed Harry into his study. It was obviously decorated by Ginny who'd given much thought in how a proper study for someone destined to become Head Auror should look. Important trophies and certificates hung on the walls, surrounded by muted Gryffindor colors and upholstery, but Harry was unable to maintain the facade and his desk was a cluttered mess, including old wrappers from Chocolate Frogs.

"My home is always open to you, but what brings you by at six thirty on a Saturday, Severus?"

He made a small look of disgust. "Miss Vane has upset my wife."

Harry grinned good naturedly. "Probably. I saw the headlines too." He stretched and yawned loudly. "I figured it would give her fits, but it's nothing she hasn't dealt with before. 'Mione's a champ."

Severus leaned forward and pierced the wizard with his most intimidating glare. He'd grown into his maturity and come a great distance from the malnourished teen, but long standing history with the Auror dictated if Severus pushed too hard, Harry would rebel, just for the satisfaction of defying him.

"_'Mione_," he said bitterly, "shouldn't have to deal with this harassment. And as her supposed friends, you ought to protect her. I thought that's what you did for each other. Isn't that's what she's done for you?"

Harry chuffed, and Severus waited as he struggled to articulate a meaningful protest, but he gave up. "What would you have me do, Severus? Arrest Romilda? She hasn't broken any law."

Severus sat back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "I'd like to hear everything you personally know about Miss Romilda Vane; then I'd like you to Floo Auror Headquarters and make a duplicate of her file for me."

"You know I can't do that. It's against regulations," Harry said seriously. "If you go after Romilda, I'll be an accomplice in a criminal conspiracy."

"Which is why I'll Obliviate your memory at the conclusion of this conversation."

Harry blinked. Twice. Then shrugged. "Well, since you put it that way…"

Thirty minutes later, Ginny heard the faint crack of Apparation and breathed a sigh of relief. Despite how Harry thought and felt about the wizard, he would always give her the creeps. Harry hadn't been there for his final year. He could never understand what it was like with Snape as Headmaster. She felt Harry brush up behind her to nuzzle her neck and shoulder with a kiss as she flipped an egg on the griddle.

"So, what did Snape want?" Ginny asked pensively.

"You know, I don't remember," Harry said a bit blearily.

Ginny frowned and plated Harry's eggs. "You don't?"

"Yeah, I think he Obliviated me." Harry scratched at his head. "I really think it's for the best though, I just hope whatever he's planning doesn't interrupt Hermione's work."

* * *

Hermione did not feel any bit better when she woke up the next morning. The nasty buzzing in the back of her brain was still there and though she thought the chocolate the night before worked miracles, what she really wanted was her bloody store-bought Headache Relief, which Severus was supposed to run out and get. Only it didn't take hours to buy Headache Relief. Even though most wizarding shops closed ridiculously early, and took every banker's holiday they could, there was still the dispensary at St. Mungo's, and that was open for business late and on weekends. Severus Effing Snape would know that.

Hermione was in a right foul mood until she spotted the vial next to her bed. Then her head dropped back onto its pillow and that felt infinitely worse.

He'd brewed. That son of a banshee.

He just couldn't let her have store-bought, could he?

Hermione rubbed the furrow of her brows. Her head hurt. It ached, felt too heavy to hold up. She didn't right care if the potion was made of monkey piss, though it was always best never to ask what the ingredients were. The only thing that mattered was; if Severus had brewed it, it worked.

The small note attached read: _One small swig._

"Bottoms up," Hermione muttered, holding her nose.

As the potion went down her throat she appreciated the fact that it was only the single swig.

The potion trickled. She swore, she could feel it trickling through her brain. It was the oddest, most disconcerting feeling ever. All the clouds and accumulated cobwebs that had gathered over the past stressful week were being brushed aside by this wonderful potion. The buzzing, that stomped and stormed through her head and temples, quieted – slowly. It was getting chased back, to whatever dark corner it had come from.

Hermione breathed slowly. She opened her eyes. And there was peace. She laughed for the joy of knowing it. Her store-bought Headache Relief had never done that. It just had given her temporary respite from the nagging pain, but not true relief.

"Brilliant, Severus," she said to herself.

"Mrrrow," an insistent voice loudly announced. Now that she was better, she was reminded of her duties to scratch and pet the familiar who had diligently kept watch over her.

"Mrrrow," another voice added, because Hermione had two hands and they ought not to be idle.

When the fearless and praiseworthy familiars who had kept their nightly vigil had been properly adored, they informed her that she was no longer necessary, Ushanka by hopping off the bed to find breakfast and Crookshanks by lifting a leg to lick himself. Hermione stretched and decided to get up, wondering what Severus was up to and how they might spend the day now that she no longer felt like a troll was stomping through her head.

In the kitchen Hermione found a surprise: dinner, plated and on Stasis from the night before. She looked at it with a pang of guilt before stealing a handful of perfectly steamed asparagus spears to tamp down her pang of hunger. He'd cooked this, for them, for Date Night. _And éclairs,_ Hermione reminded herself as her stomach growled. The Stasis would keep for later. Hell, she knew from months on the run that a properly cast Stasis could last weeks if need be. Not that food had lasted particularly long when they'd been on the run, but mealy Scotch Eggs had been their least favorite food and the absolute last to get eaten. Hermione looked at the beautiful food sitting innocently on the kitchen counter and promised to make amends with Severus.

With a wrinkle to her forehead, she wondered where he was. The flat was abnormally silent and though she lived alone and had lived alone for a good many years, the absence of his presence was strangely discomfiting. Hermione brushed that thought aside, and resolved to entertain herself without Severus Snape, as she'd done countless weekends prior to his sudden and unexpected disruption of her life.

She grabbed a new bodice-ripper. A good and filthy one.

During the week she was fully committed to an intensive research position that required delving into some of the most arcane and obscure texts in the wizarding world, and had learned early on – the hard way – to never rely upon translation charms. She spent days and sometimes weeks mucking about in the most disgusting hellholes of the wizarding world in an exhaustive search, and she never came home to Severus without showering and refreshing her clothing. Bone-weary and often exhausted, her nights and weekends were for her. The last thing she wanted to read was another academic journal.

Hermione always chose the best, most ridiculous sounding romance novels she could lay her hands on, with extra heaving bosoms and turgid manhoods. Mental decompression, Hermione asserted. At least this reading material never made her eyes cross – except when the authors suggested positions that were physically impossibly, unless under the instruction of a trained yoga master or performed in outer space, but still… she'd read outer space porn, if she could get it.

The picture on the cover of this particular bodice-ripper had the trifecta: kilt, pirate, sworn vengeance. The swooning female in a too-tight corset was entirely incidental to the picture on the cover, which focused on the kilted, muscled pirate with perfect teeth, backlit by the setting sun.

By page thirty, Hermione knew it was the shifty innkeeper who had set up Desmond. Characters who needlessly received too much attention up front always returned later on to fill plot roles. The insurance subplot was also completely illogical for its time period, Hermione thought, but then, she wasn't exactly reading it for historical accuracy.

Hermione looked up with a sense of joyful anticipation as soon as she heard the tell-tale crack of Severus' Apparation. Odd, that in such a short time frame they'd become so familiar to one another, not just flatmates but friends. Wherever he'd been and whatever plans he had next, Hermione realized, she wanted to know. She wanted to be involved with his life. It was a strange, but comfortable realization.

Her curiosity could not contain itself. "Where have you been?"

"Out, plotting," he replied stiffly, starting to undo the miniscule buttons fashioned at his high-necked collar. "The swiftest and most expedient way of dealing with Miss Vane is to chop her body into bits and deposit them into a randomly selected bog. The bog may mummify the remains preserving evidence of the crime, but on the other hand it'll be centuries before she's found, if ever."

Predictably, Hermione gasped.

"Oh, please. You specifically asked me not to murder the witch, and I told you I wouldn't. I don't hex nicely, but I haven't killed anyone, well, other than lamentable life choices involving the Potters and Albus. So not in cold blood, at any rate. I haven't even hooked a fish yet," he grumbled.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"But I said I'd take care of Miss Vane and I will. Don't worry, Hermione, you've hired the right Slytherin for the job. It just needs proper plotting. And proper plotting takes time or else you get piss poor plotting, and nobody wants any of that, mind. These things don't happen by magic, you know."

"Can I help?"

She asked eagerly, he noted. Her eyes shining with the light of a woman who'd jinxed parchment – Severus guessed Marietta Edgecombe still used glamorous to cover her spots. And he'd heard all about the Centaurs – who hadn't?

"No," he said firmly, crushing her bloodthirsty dreams beneath his boot before they became too big. "I need you to have plausible deniability. We're going out today. Are you feeling up to it?"

"We are?" Hermione blinked and racked her memory. As far as she was aware they hadn't made any plans. "Yes, I'm feeling fine. Your potion worked wonders."

"Of course it did." She could practically hear him mentally say, _silly girl_. "Then get dressed in something suitable for the Muggles and bring a small blanket. I'll return in a few minutes."

Severus turned on his heel and left her feeling bewildered. He grinned smugly as he took the stairs to the back garden.

In the tent he faced the collection of shrunken crates from his former life and hoped the one he selected wasn't as badly damaged as the previous one had been, though this one was much tamer and far less toxic. The worst ills he could suffer were from moldy socks.

The crate resized itself, and without much else to do, Severus up-ended the contents all over the floor. It had been packed without rhyme or reason by the elves and that part of his wardrobe had always been neglected anyhow. Still, it took little time for Severus to find his favorite pair of denims. They'd been broken in years before – too many to count, and patched with enough charms to be downright embarrassing if anyone found out. But he'd once been told by a pretty girl that they made his arse look good and they fit right, so they'd stay in his closet until they couldn't be charmed any longer and all the threads fell apart. From the stack of shirts, he grabbed a worn checked shirt, black and green, and folded up the sleeves now that he could.

The rest of the mess went back into the crate because Severus preferred his hovels to be tidy-like.

There was only the small shaving mirror in the tent. Severus checked the rasp on his chin and grimaced at the salt-and-pepper grey that had accumulated at his temples. He noticed then that his hair was past the point of unruly and found a small tie, which might have at one time belonged to Hermione, and pulled his hair back. From the dragon hide boots on his feet to the top of his head, he hoped Hermione wouldn't think him ridiculous looking. He checked himself in the small mirror, to be certain… twice.

He met Hermione with a vague apprehension, from the lingering self-doubt of his younger years when faced with a pretty girl and strange new feelings. He had to firmly remind himself he was a grown wizard and this wasn't his first date. It wasn't even his first date with Hermione. He had only recently come to the conclusion he was courting her, _fancied her_, like a hormone-riddled teenager, that was all.

He found her exactly where he left her, in the kitchen, this time dressed for an outing, her hair swept up excepting the loose tendrils that framed her heart-shaped face. She wore denim jeans, like him, and a floral blouse, soft and feminine, and…

And he was a poor, smitten sod.

Fucking hell.

Hermione smiled at him which he returned, like an idiot school boy. Severus masked his features before he started mooning after her.

"Do you have the blanket?" he barked at her brusquely.

"Right here." Hermione pulled a small patch of red felt from her pocket.

"Fine, then I will Apparate us," Severus said, extending his hand.

"You didn't say where we were going."

"No, I didn't." He pulled her closer than expected, surprised by Hermione's willingness to melt into his body as she wrapped her arms about him. The intimacy of their touch was momentarily shattered by the sucking crush of movement as they traversed the plane of space.

Hermione took a moment to right herself, and Severus imagined she lingered before stepping back.

"Where are we?"

"My former living room," Severus replied. "The Ministry happily signed over my property rights while I was incarcerated because I wasn't entitled to any rights."

Severus ignored her pitying glance.

"_Keep this keep as a keep ought to be kept,_ my Da used to say – he was in the Regiment. _Remember a keep will not keep itself_. Still, this is the cleanest I've seen the place."

They were in a parking garage that was nearly empty save a battered station wagon and a motorcycle. Dust and petrol fumes mingled with the stale air from the lazy river. The Municipality had demolished his tenement housing and the blighted surrounding areas to make way for urban renewal. Thousands of spindles had stopped spinning in the mills, but progress was coming to take the town kicking and screaming into the new century. The motorway brought tired commuters hungry for a bit of quiet country living out of the city; abandoned downtown buildings were refurbished and whitewashed so they could look respectable again. They were posh and gentrified now, but all the loft apartments from converted factories couldn't mask the stench of the river, slowly making its way out to sea, carrying with it the detritus and pollution from generations of industry.

For Severus, it could never be anything but a dirty old town. Shabby and well-worn like an old sweater, but one that fit him most comfortably.

"Come, I have something to show you." He gestured.

There was pavement now, he noticed with a faint bit of surprise. Harder to play_ kick the can _on pavement, but they didn't stay on the pavement for long. Severus led Hermione through a detour, negotiating new streets that hadn't been there when he was a child, his innate sense of direction pulling him. When he found the path that sloped towards the old town center, the bit they hadn't started to polish up, he couldn't help share a grin, a secret smile with Hermione. Despite the years, he'd found it.

If Hermione found his behavior puzzling, she didn't comment. She allowed him to pull her along, trundled after him as he found his way around and returned his smile whenever she caught him at it.

Before long they arrived at a green space in what once had been the city center or marketplace. There were some small tents up and other people were selling from the backs of vehicles.

"A Farmer's Market?" she asked.

"Well spotted," he replied.

"I don't understand," Hermione said guardedly, gazing at the area with a mix of uneasiness.

With more patience than Severus knew he possessed, he bit back the urge to insult the intelligence of the believed brightest witch of the age. She'd passed his N.E.W.T. score for Merlin's sake. "What's not to understand?" He clenched and unclenched a fist. "Farmers and craftspeople from the local area gather to sell their wares."

"But what does this have to do with the plot against Romilda Vane? Are we meeting her here? Abducting her here?" Her voice rose in pitch. "Or is this the place of our plausible deniability – is something going on right now?"

Severus sighed in frustration and dispelled the urge to tug on his hair.

"No," he snarled. "It's just a Farmer's Market."

"Oh."

Hermione was quiet and less tense as they crossed the green and approached the vendors.

Severus realized he might have accidentally misled her. She'd always been a part of the planning – the boys relied upon her, needed her desperately. Perhaps Hermione always assumed she would be included. He stopped her just before they came upon the Muggles.

"Look, I shudder to think what you're accustomed to with Potter and Weasley, but before I lead you out into mischief and possible death and destruction, I'll give you the courtesy of a bit of advanced warning. We'll even plot everything out thoroughly together and even have proper spy names."

Hermione grinned. "Oh that would be nice for a change, thank you."

"You're welcome." Severus inclined his head politely. "You'll be Miss Bella Broadchest, my personal attaché."

She swatted his shoulder.

"Miss Tiffany Titswilder, my personal trainer?" he asked.

"Incorrigible!"

He smirked. "Perhaps, but we're here because I thought we'd enjoy the day, make a picnic and not think or talk about Miss Vane."

"Like a date?"

Severus felt his cheekbones filling with warmth. He wasn't accustomed to blushing and hoped she wouldn't notice. "Possibly," he said evenly, watching, waiting for her reacting.

"Hmm." Hermione sidled next to him and slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow with a sly grin. "It might be best to keep up appearances then."

Hermione wanted cherries. The season wasn't fully in yet and they weren't likely to be sweet enough, Severus told her so, but Hermione wanted cherries and the conversation was quickly ended with swift purchase of a small bag. Severus excused himself while she sampled the local honey to have a word with one of the produce vendors to buy a bottle. Mr. Barrett was selling fresh apricots and rhubarb, but he was also quietly known as the man with the best still around. With a small word and a slight nod, Severus returned to Hermione's side with a weighted burlap bag.

Together they wound around tables, looking at the offerings of the springtime season. She spent a long time admiring the pottings and cut flowers.

"Is there a particular flower that's your favorite?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I like them all." She looked up at him with a smile in her big brown eyes. "Honestly, it wouldn't matter if they were cheap carnations, I'd love and appreciate the sentiment of the giver."

He was about to select a flower for her, but Hermione twined her fingers in his and tugged him onwards.

They purchased fruits and homemade bread and sausage pastries, more food than was necessary for a picnic, Severus thought, but he kept that to himself and moved Hermione along. As much as he wanted her to enjoy herself, there were still too many familiar faces at the Farmer's Market, and he didn't want her to pause too long to get into an uncomfortable conversation. Severus was thankful local custom dictated they walk away at least six or seven paces before the tongues started wagging in fanciful speculation.

Once the small Farmer's Market was behind them, Hermione inhaled fresh air and turned to Severus with a look of anticipation.

"So, what next?" she asked with a smile, returning her hand in his.

"Ducks," Severus replied cryptically.

She followed along with him, as the path from the Farmer's Market twisted around two streets and down a hill, past his old Muggle school, until they reached the pasture with the duck pond. Severus anxiously waited for Hermione's reaction. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the square of red wool felt and lifted her sparkling eyes up to his.

"Where's the best spot?"

"Over there, by the willow," he responded, tilting his head to the far end.

They circled around the pond, disrupting the ducks who quacked and skittered to the other edge in protest, but didn't fly away. That would take effort and energy, and these ducks weren't accustomed to exerting effort and energy, but they made a fuss of flapping.

As soon as Severus had a decent spot picked out, they enlarged the blanket and Hermione removed her footwear and dug her toes in the soft grass. Severus paused for a moment before he dispatched his own. Hermione grinned.

As Hermione spread out the day's treats on the picnic blanket, Severus began gathering tiny yellow flowers. Wild _Ranunculus repens_, or creeping buttercups, threaded through the grass as it had for generations, and Severus set to the task of deftly collecting them to weave a circlet for her Hermione's hair.

"How did you learn to make these?" Hermione asked softly, looking over his shoulder.

"My mother," Severus replied wistfully. "We used to come here in the afternoons before I started school. She let me plait them into her hair and crown her Queen Mab."

"How sweet."

He finished the circlet and tucked the ends together, then handed it to Hermione with a slight stain of pink dusting his cheeks.

"It's rubbish," Severus muttered. "You don't have to wear it, you know."

"Nonsense. I told you, I like all flowers." She smiled and plopped it on her head, and Severus was momentarily arrested by the thought that he was looking at a vision of a fey goddess. A wild thing of earthen beauty, of untamed hair and reckless freckles.

"Will you tell me about her, your mother? What was she like?"

"Wickedly funny," Severus blurted. It was the first thing that came to his mind. "A dark humor though."

"Like yours?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, she was always more clever. I'll never possess her level of shining wit – must be a Ravenclaw trait I missed."

"Harry mentioned you had a difficult home life."

"He did, did he?" Severus' countenance soured. He'd shared much with Harry in the span of time spent in Azkaban, but he never expected those personal conversations would come back to haunt him. "How much did he say?"

"That was it. That was all he said."

Severus scrubbed his face and looked about. The afternoon was pleasant, the sky was appropriately blue and dotted with random fluffy clouds. The temperature was neither too hot nor too cold, and there was a refreshing light breeze in the air. By all accounts it was supposed to be a perfectly ideal picnic and ought to be left at that. If Severus played his cards right, Hermione would slip her hand into his and possibly hold him tightly again for Apparation. And if, by gods, he were a very lucky boy he might be able to manage without cocking it up badly or fumbling too terribly – a kiss. A conversation about his parents failed marriage was dousing ice water on all those lovely plans.

Hermione had opened up a wrapper of pastries and distributed one to him and tore greedily into one for herself before she motioned him to get on with telling his story.

"My Da was doing his national service when he met my mum. I can't imagine what he looked like to her; she was in a bad spot having just left the wizarding world and he was a strapping tin soldier come to save the day." Severus paused and snorted.

"A fairy tale come true," Hermione said. "Must have been romantic."

"At first, perhaps, but there aren't too many happily ever afters around here. Eventually all the gold flakes away to brass. By the time the honeymoon was over, his service had ended, there was a baby on the way, and he was back in the mills, even though the lint clots a man's lungs stealing his breath before he's ready to die."

"As long as the marriage is happy, there are ways to make the best out of a bad situation," she said, giving his hand a small squeeze. "It can't be bad all the time."

"It wasn't," he acknowledged. "They loved each other, but they got on each other terribly. Today they'd probably call it an abusive home, but in those days nobody ever did and my parents would have laughed at the label."

He saw her opening her mouth, a half formed syllable came out and he cut her off –

"My mother gave just as good as she got. She yelled and browbeat and occasionally wholloped my father. It doesn't make it right, but that's how their marriage worked. They simply didn't know how to communicate without screaming. Whoever yelled the loudest and stamped around the most, won the argument. When I was little I hated the screaming – even now I rarely raise my voice in anger. I used to think it meant they didn't love each other, but they did. They just fought. It didn't help that Da got nicked a few times for disorderly."

Severus paused and tore off a bit of the pastry Hermione had given him and chewed without tasting. He needed to collect his thoughts and memories.

"In my fifth year, Da had a fall at the mill. We thought he'd pull through, but he didn't make it. When she lost him." Severus shrugged. "She was lost. Mother wasn't welcome back among wizards, and Da was the only person who really tethered her to Muggles. She became unmoored."

The ducks, lazy opportunists that they were, slowly drifted towards the picnickers. Generations of schoolchildren and locals had taught them and their forebears to angle for bits of stale bread. Severus quietly advised Hermione to tear up one of the rolls and feed them. There was no reason to disrupt the delicate balance of their harmonious coexistence. He also seized the moment to ground himself.

The coronet of buttercups was crookedly sliding down one side of her head and Severus gently straightened it for her as she threw bread to the ducks.

"I notice you speak about her in the past tense."

Hermione's tone was gentle and even, for his benefit, Severus recognized. She was feeling him out, probing with words to test how forthcoming he would be, with his history and emotions. His wife wanted to get to know him;_ there might be hope for a relationship_, he thought, with a slight curve to his upper lip. The small measure of happiness was brief and overshadowed by old memories.

"She died in my seventh year," Severus said, carefully neutral. Years of withholding emotion threatened to crack his breath, but he was a master at it, and their relationship was yet tentative. At any moment, he expected her to brush away crumbs, politely thank him for a lovely afternoon and Disapparate away. "There was an outbreak of Horklump Virus that year, and she was infected."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I didn't know it was deadly."

Through clenched teeth Severus muttered, "It's usually not. I could have brewed the antidote in the kitchen if I'd known. The school declined to tell me she was sick because they didn't want to interrupt my N.E.W.T. testing."

"Dumbledore," Hermione spat.

He nodded morosely. "It made sense at the time, I suppose. I understand his decision. When I was Headmaster I had to make so many similar decisions…" Severus trailed off and shrugged. "It was only the Horklump Virus, with magical medical care she should have gotten better."

Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She sounds like a great woman; I wish I could have met her."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers and felt the warmth of her words. "She would have liked you very much, Hermione."

A duck quacked and they turned to feed the hungry blighters, happy for a distraction.

Hermione couldn't stay out all afternoon. She had some project to finish and wouldn't allow Severus to leave without promising to return for dinner; his well-prepared meal would not go to waste. As he stood close to her, close enough to feel her body heat and the crackling fission of tension between them, he promised not to miss dinner. Not ever. But before dinner he had something pressing to attend to.

* * *

_Picnicking near the ramshackle mill_  
_They hold hands and feel such a thrill_  
_They feed little ducks_  
_make a chain of buttercups_  
_But Hermione - is it true that she's ill?_


	12. Chapter 12 Rumour

**Chapter Twelve – Rumour**

Hermione spent most of the day where Severus was assured of his welcome – with her parents. Severus also made her promise that she would take time to visit Harry, the Burrow, and pop into the Leaky to talk to Hannah, just in case she required any form of alibi later on.

Severus spent the day plotting, twisting up loose ends, and firming up things that needed to be firmed. He was quite busy. Were it just Romilda Vane he needed to worry about, that would be one thing, but the witch had put every reporter onto the scent of a story, and he needed to deal with a swarm of sharks. The only thing to distract sharks from blood in the water was a nice thrashing body – a bigger story. Unfortunately, Severus was a bit rusty on the blackmail game. Years in Azkaban meant that most of his information was out of date and his targets were either dead or incarcerated. If he couldn't pull a big legitimate news story, that meant he needed to invent one, and nothing created a bigger news circus than bloody Death Eater stories.

This was exactly how Severus spent most of Sunday morning fiddling with Charms, admittedly not his strongest suit, and placing them on a handful of old and singed Exploding Snap cards that were left in the tent. Morsmordre was a tricksy bugger of a spell. It could only be cast by someone who'd been marked by Lord Voldemort himself, which is why people pissed their pants seeing them, and it had the tendency of activating Dark Marks on anyone in the vicinity of the casting. With Lord Voldemort's death, all the marks had deactivated, but they remained just below the surface. As his own forearm prickled slightly, Severus dearly hoped none of his former mates were just casually strolling by.

Without questioning why, each time he imbued a card with the charmed spell, Severus held his breath. He also prayed he didn't accidentally cast Morsmordre over top of Hermione's apartment complex. That would be just a wee difficult to explain to the authorities.

The moment the last card was finished, Severus Apparated away. Each one was tossed in a different wizarding location – there was no point involving Muggles. Whenever the containment charm failed, the Morsmordre would appear just before the self-destruction charm kicked in. Severus erased the trail of his magic, then cleared his wand of the charms. Getting caught by _Priori Incantatem _was for amateurs.

Reporters would scurry for weeks on the story.

Without pause, Severus acknowledged he would cause fear, panic, and terror to the population. He wasn't indifferent to this; his heart had never turned cold or callous to the suffering he'd caused, but needs must. This was another needs must. Morally flexible, Albus had called him. It was not a compliment, but then Albus was a Gryffindor.

He would do what he had to do to protect his. And if he got caught... That did give him pause. If the charms on any of the Exploding Snap cards failed, he could be traced, then it would mean death. He would not go back to Azkaban. In his mind's eye, Severus imagined a bloody duel with Aurors ending in his death. No, he would not be taken back to prison and Hermione would have her freedom from him as a widow. Almost imperceptibly he nodded.

From what he'd read in Romilda Vane's file, Hermione was being overly melodramatic. Vane was a lightweight and hadn't touched Hermione in years. On the odd chance a photographer snapped her picture out, she wrote a tawdry caption, and occasionally cobbled together a rumor, but curiously she hadn't done much to harm Granger's reputation. Romilda Vane had made her reputation as a muck-raking gossip columnist by going after recently-turned-Light Dark Wizards such as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, and Burkes. Exposing heroes wasn't her usual bread-and-butter. All things considered, Vane had gone considerably easy on many of them and had written off the Slughorn Scandal as 'boys will be boys'. This gave Severus pause; Rita Skeeter had been a far more insidious witch and Hermione had ruthlessly handled her with ease. She never would have hidden among Muggles over a bit of bad press from Skeeter.

"Severus!" There was a long pause, and he looked up from the kitchen wondering if he heard correctly. "Can you come here for a moment?"

Had his ears betrayed him, or had she just summoned him from within the bathroom?

Wincing inwardly, Severus knocked on the door.

"It's open."

His eyes fell upon her and immediately looked away, finding purchase on the ceiling above like a blushing third year. The bathroom was damp and steamy; already the mirror had fogged over and curls of steam were still rising from the bath tub, but Severus was not going to look at that.

"Sit with me; I want to have a chat."

Startled wasn't quite the word for it. "You're indecent."

"No, I'm not. I'm covered in bubbles."

He was aware of that fact actually. With a longsuffering sigh borne of a man resigned to living with a bossy little witch who obviously had no sense of decorum whatsoever, Severus conjured a small stool for himself and examined the tile above her head.

"You know this would be much easier if you would just make eye-contact. It won't kill you, you know."

Severus swallowed the thick lump that seemed to have materialized somewhere in the back of his throat and glanced down at Hermione. It took a few unsettling glances before he became comfortable with looking at her, but he did in fact – look at her. Directly at her. Her eyes, the delicate bridge of her nose. The loose tendrils of curls pinned up atop her head, and decidedly not the curve of her neck which dipped lower, much lower descending into… bubbles.

Swelling breasts and bubbles. The tops of them at least. Fuck. He'd seen them.

Hermione diverted his attention by holding her empty wine glass out to him. The chilled bottle of white was just beyond her reach, although she probably could make it if she wanted to, but that would mean… breasts.

Severus refilled her glass and kept his eyes on the task at hand. There was a second glass next to the bottle – so he'd been set up from the start.

"Two glasses?" He quirked an eyebrow. "You have me in your bathroom and you're plying me with alcohol, madam. That's dirty Quidditch."

"Oh, is it? I wouldn't know what you're talking about; I'm just a simple Gryffindor. I don't know anything about having craft or cunning. Besides, don't bother me, I have wicked headache."

Resigning himself to the futility of arguing with Hermione, Severus poured himself a glass as well. "You wished to discuss something?"

"Hm…?" She took a light sip of wine and Severus watched the movements of her long throat contract. "Yes, the court date is tomorrow. I've been meaning to ask how you feel about it."

"And you think now is the proper time?"

At the other end of the tub she lifted her feet out of the water and crossed them on the edge of the bath. Her toenails were painted the color of ripe plums and still had tiny little bubbles clinging to them, he wondered if it were bad form to suck on them without permission or if she were the type of witch who preferred him to beg. Severus shook the stray thought from his head.

"Why not now?" Hermione's head lolled back and she inhaled the fragrant steam rising from the bath. "No time like the present."

She was prompting him to go first, to make a declaration. "How I feel is rather inconsequential, the Wizengamot will make their ruling based upon court history and self interest, but you know this. Your solicitor has said as much."

Hermione moved closer, turning toward the shelf of the tub and nearly leaning over it, the gentle roll of her lush hip turning out of the water. Severus' eye strayed for only a fraction of an instant – if the Wizengamot condemned their marriage he wanted to commit this memory into his mind for what would be left of his sodden life.

"Is that it, then?" she asked. "How you feel is inconsequential?"

Severus lifted himself to the challenge and stared down the witch. "I wish we'd never been married." It was fleeting, but Severus registered the full mark of pain that she wore across her face. "As I've said countless times, I abhor what Dumbledore did to us. It was unconscionable and a betrayal that goes beyond the pale. Would you not agree, dear wife?"

She nodded slowly in agreement.

Severus took a sip of the chilled wine to clear his palate and give himself a moment to recover.

"However," he remarked in a more neutral voice. "If the Wizengamot has the good sense to grant us the divorce we deserve, I would ask and be honored if you would see me socially."

"See you socially?" Hermione's lips twisted into a wry grin. "Severus Snape, did you just ask me out on a date?"

"I did nothing of the sort." He paused to taste another sip of wine. "Dating is for teenagers. I would court you with the honorable intention of marriage. Someone needs to make an honest witch of you."

"You do that, Severus," she said laughingly.

The effect of her laughter had him disarmed entirely. In one moment he wanted to swoop her up from the bath, take her into his arms and passionately kiss her rosy lips.

His movement was arrested by Hermione handing her glass of wine back to him.

"I think I'm turning into a prune." she said, examining one foot from a distance, her leg dripping with bubbles. "Do you mind turning your head and handing me the towel over there?"

Severus coughed. For some ineffable reason when he Vanished his conjured stool his confidence vanished with it. He handed her a towel and fled with the sound of Hermione's light laughter echoing from the bathroom.

* * *

It was chilly outside, so the heater was turned up fully for her comfort.

Scotty knew he probably shouldn't do it, as the carriage was empty, but it was the right thing to do and she looked so peaceful in her slumber. He gently punched the ticket that was pinned to her jacket before moving off.

From a stretch beyond her dreams, there was a slow thumping-clack, a repetitive noise. She wrinkled her nose, stray conscious thoughts pulling at the tendrils of sleep. But she was so awfully tired and so nicely warm and comfortable, but something felt odd, so she couldn't remain asleep. Her senses tingled and she awoke slowly, lifting eyelids heavy with sleep and rolled contentedly in her chair.

Her gaze stopped on the letters CNR, embroidered in gray on burgundy from a seat in front of her. That didn't seem right. The thumping-clack sounded louder, as senses woke up and her sleepy head started piecing together details that didn't fit. Romilda clenched her fists, the sound of rails and slowly slipping-by countryside causing her to jolt. Her heartbeat sped up.

She reached up her coat sleeve for her wand and with increasing dread in the pit of her stomach, removed a rolled parchment where her wand should have been. At her touch it unfurled itself before her, hovering mid-air. In thick copperplate script she read:

**A Warning – Leave Hermione Granger Alone!**

It burned brightly; a green magical flame consumed the parchment before it fell away as ash.

"I don't scare that easily," Romilda sneered, tossing her glossy curls over her shoulder. "You have no idea who you're dealing with – Acccck! Bvvvv! Nnnn!" she choked.

Romilda tried to say Granger's name. She could hear it in her own head, but when she tried to vocalize it, guttural gibberish came out. Nasty. The magical green glowing light must have been enchanted. It put a minor set-back on things, but she'd overcome it. Romilda tried to think of her last memory – and found mental soup. Her recent memories had either been taken from her or fully Obliviated; no trace remained.

"I can still get you, you know," she shouted out.

The compartment appeared empty. The train swayed gently. The thumping-clack of rails was ever present. But Romilda turned her predatory eyes on the empty seats as if they had issued the challenge.

She had an extra wand fashioned for emergencies – shrunk to the size of a pin and stashed in her locket where she kept other survival items hidden. She didn't get to be the wizarding world's best Gossip Columnist by her unparalleled beauty alone, although she thought it helped. Romilda tugged her great-grandmother's locket from underneath an over-sized jumper.

The spell-enchanted jewelry opened under her fingernail, and Romilda tapped the contents into her palm. "All the items must have gotten jammed up there," she muttered.

She tapped at it again. And again. And again! Then she gave it a big hard shake, pounding the antique against the plastic arm rest. Nothing came out. No wand. No extra stash of Muggle currency or Galleons. No illegal Portkey. Nothing!

A brutal, ugly scream tore through her lips.

She discarded the empty locket, flinging the now useless trinket to the floor. In panic, Romilda checked through every piece of clothing she had on. Whoever had redressed her had used new clothing - nothing she wore was familiar. Her pockets were empty. Not a single scratch of dosh in them. No additional notes. No clues.

"Fuck!" Romilda cursed, kicking the back seat of the chair in front of her.

Scotty ran in, stumbling in a panic from running having heard her screams. When he found her feeling her tits up in frustration though…

Scotty coughed to catch her attention. It wasn't proper to stare.

"Who are you?" Romilda demanded, her eyes flashing predatorily.

"I'm the attendant here," he blushed and ducked his head. "My name's Scotty. Pleased to meet you, miss."

Something about the bumbling prick, Romilda thought, was bad. Very bad indeed, and it wasn't just in the way his cheap uniform fit him. His voice was off. Like an accent she couldn't place. Not Irish or Manx, or even bloody Welsh, she shuddered. Romilda turned her head and took stock of the country side gently passing by. Jagged mountains loomed on the horizon. A feeling of despair washed over her.

Romilda turned towards the attendant – Scotty? And batted her curled eyelashes with all the false enthusiasm she could muster, with a wincing smile and coquettish voice she asked, "Scotty, where are we and where are we headed?"

Bewildered, he raked a hand through his shaggy hair and looked closely at the manic woman cooing and making a strange duck-face pout with her lips. He had caught sight of her coming on, and she had looked out of it then – stumbling and sluggish, listing about – but he'd been too busy helping the hockey team off-load their gear. Now that he thought about it, she was definitely rolling.

"Yeah, uh, you're on the railbus from Seton Portage to Lillooet, miss. In fact we'll pull into Lillooet soon."

"What country is that?" she asked resigned.

It was at that moment; Scotty resolved to never smoke weed again. Sure, that Midnight Sun stuff was wild-ass shit, but drugs would fuck you up something fierce. His sister was right; he needed to do something more with his life and move out of the basement. He never wanted to get so baked he didn't know what country he was in.

"Canada, miss. You're in British Columbia," he felt obliged to add.

"Fuck!" she wailed again, firmly kicking the backseat of the chain in front of her as many times as she could.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Scotty yelled. "Take it easy, eh? That's company property and all."

"Are there even any wizards in British Columbia?" Romilda wailed. _To hell with the Statutes of Secrecy_, Romilda thought savagely. _This was an emergency!_

"Uh, wizards?" Scotty took two steps back and eyed the exit. This chick's brain was fried, he decided. "Like the magic kind? Or are you looking to score another high?"

She gave him a dirty look.

"Right, there might be a First Nation shaman in Squamish." He shuffled back a few more steps. "Look, I've got work to do, alright?"

Immediately Scotty noticed the slight tremble, the heavy sniff. _Aw, shit,_ he thought, just before her lashes were heavily soaked with tears. "I can be back in just a bit and share some of my lunch with you, if you want."

"Bring biscuits," Romilda chirped after him.

Once he'd left Romilda tried again at sounding out the name that had been printed on the enchanted parchment, but found for the life of her, she couldn't even remember it. The entire experience was slowly slipping from her memory, and lingered only as a very deep suggestion.

* * *

_Vane's nastiness just served to doom her _

_For Severus had no sense of humour._

_He paid back in kind_

_By wiping her mind._

_Romilda has paid for her rumour._

Limerick by Christev


	13. Chapter 13 Canoodle

**Chapter 13 – Canoodle**

The mood at the breakfast table early the next morning lacked all of the warmth and lighthearted playfulness they'd shared before. Though Severus had once complained bitterly that he preferred absolute silence while enjoying his strong coffee and buttered toast, the silence was suffocating. The impending appointment with the Wizengamot loomed overhead, casting a terrible shadow of depression. He absently massaged both of his wrists, feeling the phantom pain of shackles.

With an emotion akin to dreadful longing, Severus impetuously wanted a Time Turner to slow down and return to the easy afternoons when they shared company together, relaxed and unhurried. Or speed time up, passing by what was certain to be an uncomfortable proceeding and jump right into making a life with Hermione again.

Severus glanced at her, seeking to confirm with his own eyes what she'd said – that she wanted him to pursue her. See her socially. Marry her. It burned warm in his chest, but Hermione was busy studying the remarks her solicitor had left her on presenting a case before the Wizengamot. It was a minor hearing and they wouldn't be allowed to have representation. He'd been charged in a minor hearing without representation, on the count of 'flying under self-propulsion without a license.' It earned him six years in prison. The memory of it made him break out in a cold sweat.

When there was nothing more for it, Severus cleared away the dishes and offered to Apparate them to the Ministry of Magic entrance point. In the Atrium, she held her head high and scanned the sea of people for reporters headed their way. Severus placed a comforting hand on her lower back.

There was a great deal of activity within the Ministry, more so than typical. Something had caused a great commotion in the wizarding world, and the cluster of wizards identified by their press cards as reporters were gathered at the unity fountain, mobbing Auror Bagshot. Hermione looked at him, panicked, but none of the reporters turned their way.

"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed. "It looks like something else is going on."

"So it appears," Severus replied evenly.

There weren't any reporters hanging around the entry to the lower courtrooms either. Hermione sighed in relief and held his hand for comfort as they made their way to the antechamber.

Hermione turned to him and tried to offer a reassuring smile. "No matter what happens today, we'll get through this together, you know." She tilted her head. "You don't look like you believe me."

His eyes darted cautiously around the room. "I've never been too fond of this place and anytime I've been before a judge, it's never ended well," he admitted truthfully.

"Oh Severus. I didn't even think, how careless of me." She gripped his hand tighter and leaned in closer to whisper. "I can cancel the appointment if you'd like. We don't have to go through with this proceeding. I'm just as happy to return home and forget all about it."

"No," he growled in the back of his throat. "I refuse to have any man say you were coerced into being my wife." He swallowed thickly and continued at a more moderate tone. "I appreciate your willingness to help me, but I will be fine."

They cued up at the family law court and, after a short wait, were introduced on time. The Honorable Wizarding Judge, Harlan Snodgrass, was the single Wizengamot member present for their small proceeding. Hermione didn't have time to ponder it, but she felt certain she'd seen his name somewhere before. Austere and expressionless, with graying hair closely clipped, Judge Snodgrass reviewed the presentation of legal documents that Hermione's solicitor had prepared while they waited below. Although there weren't any chairs with manacles, the layout and design were definitely imposing. There was also no place to sit, so they stood with Judge Snodgrass seated high on the dais above.

Hermione peeked at Severus, attempting to read his body language, knowing how uncomfortable he was with the courts and wished there was another way to get through it. Severus stood by her side, his posture and bearing absolutely still, and refused to return her gaze. If he didn't unlock his knees, she thought, he'd pass out soon from blood constriction. Judge Snodgrass flipped through her carefully prepared documentation after skimming the brief outline, and pushed aside the entire folder to peer down from his perch at them.

"Madam Granger, Master Snape, it is your considered opinion that you were married against your will and now seek a divorce?"

Hermione looked to Severus to answer, but he remained silent, so she spoke for both of them. "Yes it is, Sir."

"You both shared the same legal guardian, who brokered both your betrothal and oversaw your wedding. This is what you avow?"

"In absentia, Sir. Master Snape and I were never made aware of either our betrothal or our wedding until recently."

"Master Snape, do you speak?"

"Yes, Judge," Severus croaked dryly. "What Madam Granger said is correct."

The judge tapped his nail on the podium before him, and out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Severus twitch. She had an irresistible urge to ask for a recess, bundle him out of there, and promise Severus never to bring him back to the place that haunted his nightmares.

"Well that poses a bit of a problem then, Madam Granger. You see, I was one of the witnesses who signed attesting to your marriage. Are you suggesting that I lied?"

"No, Sir," Hermione quickly stated. "I'd never do that; I would suggest that perhaps you were led by Albus Dumbledore to believe…" Judge Snodgrass leaned forward over the podium and fixed her with a very hard stare. She looked to Severus for help and found his hand violently trembling, his eyes staring glassily into nowhere. "Bugger," she muttered.

"What was that, Madam Granger? Speak up so the court quill can record you."

Six of the thirty members of the Wizengamot had witnessed and signed their marriage document, and she had the misfortune to find herself in the court of one of them. Everything was going pear-shaped and wonky. Her case had rested on the finer legal points of _I was taken advantage of during the fog of war _and _help me, damn it, I'm a war hero, and that should count for something other than free ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, right?._

To be fair, her advisor had done a much more eloquent job writing that, but she found herself unable to articulate any of it. But then the Wizengamot relied upon a lack of barristers in order to get away with doing as they wished with their population. Case in point – _Harry Potter and the Horrendous Crime of Underage Magic Used Against a Dementor!_ If Albus Dumbledore hadn't interceded on his behalf as a member of the court, he'd have become the Boy-Who-Lived-in-Azkaban.

Everyone knew the Wizengamot was an old boys club, with judgments handed down with a nod and a wink. As Chief Warlock for decades, Dumbledore could have played merry hob with any of them, and often did. Hermione mustered some bravery – there was no way they could send her to Azkaban for speaking her mind, could they? She was _only_ seeking a divorce. Yes, wizards frowned on that sort of thing, but under the circumstances…

"I would suggest that perhaps our mutual legal guardian led you to believe we'd been married."

"Ah, so it is not my reputation, Madam Granger that you wish to besmirch. It's the memory of our most distinguished colleague and venerable peer, Albus Dumbledore. A true hero of the light who has done the both of you many favors," Judge Snodgrass said with a pinched face.

Oh fuck. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. "Yes, that's correct."

Judge Snodgrass sat back and shook his head. He lifted her file and dropped it.

"I've heard enough. I'm ready to make my ruling." The court quill began making great flourishes across its parchment. "I have heard no compelling evidence or testimony that your marriage was made in error or forgery. Nor am I willing to entertain subversive notions about an honorable wizard who is not able to be here to defend these malicious accusations.

"Furthermore, upon Master Snape's release from Azkaban prison, you both signed documents attesting the legal validity of your marriage. Before you so hastily dismiss this marriage contract, perhaps you both should take the proper time to review it. Nobody can be magically bound against their will; it simply is not possible. I know this, my dearest friend Albus knew this, and the both of you should know it too – it's basic magical law. You cannot compel unwilling souls without resorting to Dark Magic. At no point in time have you brought forward any evidence or claim to this court that Dark Magic was used in your binding. Therefore, I must conclude you were both willing souls. Whether you were knowledgeable parties at the time is inconsequential.

"Your grievances have been heard and noted. Do not take up more of the court's time with these attacks. The conditions of your marriage are legitimate and I will not break them. Instead, I suggest you learn to get along with each other, and live a full and happy life. Or not, you can be bitter and unhappy, the choice is yours. Either way, you are both dismissed."

The sound of a gavel breaking rang like a thunderclap, and Hermione put a steadying hand on Severus' shoulder as his knees threatened to give way.

"Come on," Hermione whispered to him. "Let's go."

She shepherded Severus, pale and withdrawn, through the Ministry, until they could get out into safe Apparating distance. Knowing that if he were left to do it himself, Severus would get Splinched, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and brought them both back home.

It was there she nearly sicked up on the rug. Why couldn't she side-along Apparate?

As Severus sank numbly into the couch, Hermione ran to her bedroom where his freshly brewed headache potion sat. _Just a sip_ she remembered, but god, her head! She wanted to drink the whole foul concoction down. Everything about the morning had been unsettling and now the constricting pounding in her skull was too much.

The turquoise potion slid down her throat, and within a few moments, she returned to herself. A glance at the crystal vial showed she'd been drinking more of it than she thought and needed to ask Severus for a refill. Severus…

She checked in on him and found him surrounded by cats purring like buzz saws. He was petting Crookshanks absently while Ushanka affectionately butted underneath his chin for attention. He still looked pale and shell-shocked, so Hermione did the only reasonable thing she could think of – she went to the kitchen to prepare hot chocolate. It worked as a magical balm for icky Dark Magic and firsties who missed their families.

"Hi," she said gently, pressing a mug into his hand. "Want to talk about it?"

Severus turned and looked at her with an expression of aching tiredness; it was the first real emotion she'd seen on him since they came into the courtroom.

"Not particularly. The court ruled as much as I expected they would. I've never seen justice take place anywhere down there; why should they start now?" He took a sip, and jolted in surprise at the contents. "Hot chocolate?"

Hermione shrugged and joined him on the couch. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Severus grumbled, but continued to drink. It put color in his cheeks, and attracted the attention of both felines. When he was finished, Severus cleaned out the cup with a non-verbal swish, earning glares from both of them.

"Chocolate will constipate you, Ushanka," he chided. "It will accelerate your heart rate and can lead to an early death."

Ushanka sat down on his lap and sank her claws into his thigh.

"She's pretty," Hermione observed. "I wasn't sure that Crooksy would accept her, but they've gotten along."

"Kneazle hybrids usually do, but it's probably because I trimmed his nails." Severus smirked. "Your tom was much more accepting once he had the fur knocked out of him a few times."

She gasped. "Oh, oh my."

"Are you angry?"

"No." Hermione shook her head. "Just surprised. That was probably practical. His catfights in Gryffindor tower were legendary."

Crookshanks turned his head and narrowed his eyes at her.

"She is a very pretty kitty," Hermione said delicately. "I never really pictured you as having such a lovely familiar."

Severus' nose twitched. "Impugning my masculinity?"

"No, I just…" Hermione huffed. "I think I've probably had enough of impugning people's characters today."

He snorted and petted the fluffy grey kitty on his lap. "She came to me many years ago. Her name was Duchess then." Ushanka's tail flicked and Severus stroked her more firmly. "Her mistress abandoned her at the end of term and it was my responsibility to return her to the Magical Menagerie or find a suitable arrangement. Ushanka chose my home instead, and I lost the argument. I don't suppose you've ever tried to argue with your part-Kneazle?"

"Completely pointless," Hermione agreed. "Once he gets his mind stuck on something, he's determined. Sometimes that's a good thing. For example, he knew Scabbers was not trustworthy, but then he's also chewed all the aglets on my shoelaces clear off."

Severus snorted then reached out and covered her hand with his. "Hermione, I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted today."

"I suppose it's really all right. I requested the court date as soon as I found out about our marriage, but I'll admit I've grown more accepting of the idea since we've gotten to know each other. And recently I've been feeling pretty conflicted about divorcing you."

"It would have been best to pursue our relationship traditionally," he said, leaning forward. Ushanka stretched and sauntered off with Crookshanks following after. Hermione scooted closer to him filling the gap the furry children had left. "I would have preferred a traditional courtship."

Severus carefully picked up her hand and cradled it between his own, enveloping her smaller palm in warmth. Her eyes were drawn to where their hands were connected. "There would be an initial meeting. Some place familiar, perhaps?"

"A coffeehouse inside a bookshop?" Hermione offered.

Severus' nose wrinkled up. "Who would ever put a coffeehouse in a bookshop, and what, spill coffee and get sticky fingers on pages?"

Hermione's light laugh softened his scowl. "There are several, and I'll have to take you soon – _promise_. On our bookshop date, we would have intelligent lively discussion."

"Naturally," Severus stated.

"With witty banter and much talk about some such magical theorem."

"Obviously. Knowing I was going to be going out with such a swot like you – and do believe me when I say this Hermione, I do mean swot as the very highest of compliments, and that is from one swot to another – I would prepare myself fully by reading up on key subjects and contemporary articles in advance just so I could keep up with you in conversation and hope to impress you just a bit."

Hermione recoiled. "I think it would be the other way around, Severus. I'm sure you're much better read than I am."

"I've been locked away in prison for some years. They fed me food, but I was starved for reading materials. That, and you're rather an impressive witch to keep up with – don't let it get to your head; it's big enough as it is, though most of that is hair."

She fumbled for words then plowed ahead. "Yes, well, after the amazing pontification of impressive magical theorems, wherein we bask in our mutual swottiness and drink endless cups of coffee, what happens next, dear husband of mine?"

"I would take you home." Severus lifted a rather dangerous looking eyebrow. "And I'd escort you to your doorstep and leave you hopefully wanting more."

"Oooh, what does that entail?"

"Are you certain you want to know? It is a trade secret."

Hermione nodded and leaned ever closer.

He gently cupped her jaw and tilted her head; wide brown eyes met black until they fluttered shut. He heard her hitch of breath, felt the warmth radiating from her, and in a slow, savoring moment he met her, a soft crush of lips before withdrawing.

The feeling of her lips pressed against his was still buzzing on his skin.

Hermione made a moue of disappointment and pushed her arms up around him.

"Oh no, I shared my trade secret, you're supposed to be left wanting more at this point."

"I'm definitely wanting more," she grumped. "I'll have you know I hope this is a short courtship."

"Hardly. Do I look like the type of wizard who does anything by half measure? Of course not, this will be a long, romantic courtship. For our second date, I'll have excellent tickets somewhere for something culturally stimulating."

"Great, I'll have to buy a formal dress and wear uncomfortable heels."

"My choice in entertainment will more than make up for the inconvenience to your wardrobe. You'll look appropriately enchanting, I will endeavor to be presentable, and we will enjoy a pleasant evening, perhaps taking wine and dessert afterwards."

"And you'll escort me home?"

Severus nodded.

"Can you please demonstrate that for me, Severus? I think I need to get the full experience."

Without a word, he reached across her to sweep Hermione up in his arms, tangling one hand in her riotous curls and the other slipping down to her hip. Hermione flowed against him, her hands readily embracing him, pulling him closer, their lips locked, soft, dry and warm. It was everything Severus had wanted, could ever want, and his chest pounded with blood. It sang through his veins, and as he caressed Hermione, he wanted to communicate everything his heart was saying.

His lips caressed hers languidly, with a tender exploration that left Hermione feeling dizzy – lightheaded, the world was spinning again. Feeling faint, drowsy, drowning in kisses, more, more, more – until –

Severus withdrew. Hermione slowly opened her eyes.

"You really ought to breathe," he gently admonished her. It was served with a soft grin from pink and puckered lips. "The third date –"

"Oh, not this again," Hermione interjected, settling quite happily on his lap knowing she had his full and complete attention.

"Yes. By the third date, I'd invite you to supper at my house, if I had one. For sake of argument, we'll pretend I have one. I'll cook for you. The third date is also when I'll share one or two personally-revealing pieces of information which will not be very flattering. Trust me when I say I'll be watching closely for your reaction. The third date is very important. If you can handle me and my weighty baggage with poise and grace, we would further our relationship; if not, that would be the end of it."

"And at the end of the night can I invite you into my flat for a nightcap?" Hermione grinned, sneaking her hands around his waist.

"You do realize that means the same in the wizarding world as it does in the Muggle world, and you don't have the liquor in your cabinet for a nightcap?"

"Your point being?"

"No. I would not allow you to lure me into your flat for thinly-veiled promises of liquor and sex. Remember, I stated quite clearly I intended to court you with the _honorable_ intention of marriage."

"So no sex?"

"On the third date? That's a bit fast, isn't it? _Isn't it?_" Severus wasn't certain. It seemed too soon, then again, parts of his very own anatomy were currently in the cheering section looking for attention. "I'm willing to negotiate for some reckless frottage and mindblowing canoodling."

"Severus, did you just say _canoodling_? That's adorable. Now demonstrate."

"Wait!" he yelped as Hermione pulled his shirt out of his waistband. "There's something I've got to say. Hermione, I may not be the man you chose to marry, but I'll work to be worthy of you."

She blushed and ducked her head. "Thank you, Severus. That means a lot to me. I just have one question for you," she asked as her hands stroked along his ribcage.

"Anything," he breathed.

"What happened to Romilda?"

* * *

Severus Snape was a canoodler. A Master Canoodler. Were there a world championship for canoodling, he would be a three-time, prize-winning all-around best-in-show Canoodler. Not that Hermione would permit him to attend any such competition, no. He'd stay at home. Next to her, possibly on a short leash, and canoodle.

But as delightful as the promised _reckless frottage and mind-blowing canoodling_ had been, and it had, it really had, Hermione couldn't spend all day on the couch with Severus. Though she wanted to. Truly. Especially since his hand was _there_ and _that, yes, yes that_ felt so awfully nice.

As she contemplated the merits of doffing off further with Severus, her stomach rumbled.

"Shall I make us lunch?" Severus offered, spreading his hand across her naked abdomen.

"No," she answered with a quick kiss, straightening her clothing. "I don't want you leaving this couch. I'll get it."

Hermione untangled herself and jumped up, only to unsteadily topple back over. Severus easily caught her with outstretched arms. She sat, briefly dumping her head in her hands.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course I am; I just got up too fast," Hermione said dismissively. Her head was starting to pound and she mentally chided herself for putting off eating – a sure-fire way of giving herself a headache. She pushed off the couch and stood up, taking one step before the living room swirled across her vision.

Hermione tumbled down, her head knocking the corner of a table before she hit the floor.

Severus was up in an instant, carrying Hermione back to the couch.

The soft rise and fall of her chest confirmed she was breathing, so Severus gently cradled her head in his hands, lifting her eyelids back. _Pupils dilated,_ he noted. Pressing a finger to the carotid artery, he found her pulse elevated. Severus softly laid her head to rest on a cushion and recoiled as he felt the damp trickle of warm blood behind her ear.

"Wand, wand, wand," he shouted, nervously fumbling about for his damned wand. He found it beneath his discarded shirt and robes and hastily uttered a diagnostic spell.

Runes, yellow and sickly, floated in the air.

Severus clenched the hardwood in his palm and cast his gaze restlessly about the room. _What to do? What to do? What to do?_ He had nothing for her. Neither equipment, nor books, nor access to supplies. He knew something was wrong, seriously, deeply wrong, but hadn't enough mediwizardry knowledge to investigate further without research. And now he was wasting her time. Severus bit his tongue, hard.

He dressed himself quickly and readied Hermione's oft-neglected hearth for travel. She moaned as he bundled her into his arms. Severus shifted her weight and threw a good fistful of powder into the Floo.

"St Mungo's!" he articulated clearly.

Hermione felt muzzy. Relaxed in a warm spot she vaguely recognized as the press of Severus' woolen robes. She felt very much like a tired cat curled up on a favorite cushion, satisfied and very content in her dreamy state. St Mungo's pulled her out of her curled up spot like a shot from a cannon.

"No!" she startled, gripping his arm tightly.

"You need medical attention," Severus said. "You are concussed."

"Not Mungo's," she whispered. "Cannot go there!"

Severus froze, arrested by the ferocity in which the semi-conscious witch grabbed him and begged. There was real terror in her eyes. "Why not, Hermione? Why can't we go to wizarding places?"

"They'll let reporters ruin everything. We'll never have peace again, Severus."

"To hell with the reporters, you need a mediwitch, now."

"Please," she begged softly.

He sighed heavily and shifted their weight as he thought over their limited options.

Well, he supposed, that settled it. He was a besotted old fool.

"Hog's Head Inn, backroom," Severus called into the Floo. They jostled together through a very dirty Floo connection before it spat them out into an equally dirty floor.

"Ariana, please help us. We need to get to Hogwarts quickly; Hermione is injured."

"Yes, Headmaster Snape."

Hermione was dimly aware of conversation taking place around her, but when the dry scent of old smoke filled her nostrils, she buried into his robes and realized they were in the Room of Requirement.

"You knew the passageway the whole time?" She blinked as soon as they were out in the corridor.

He nodded, his footfalls echoing hard off the stone floors.

A small smile crept about her lips. Wan and tired as she was, Hermione felt happy, knowing just how much Severus had been on their side during those darkest days of the war. He'd always been _theirs_.

Classes were in session, so the halls were mercifully empty without any lollygaggers sneaking about, and they made it to the Infirmary without trouble. The clean-smelling hospital sheets were either specifically charmed for sleep or Hermione couldn't help herself. They were cooling, comforting and felt wonderful against her skin. The moment Severus laid her down to find the matron, she drifted off, only to be prodded by Severus.

"No sleeping, not while you have a concussion. Poppy needs to look at that." He would not have any argument. "Can I trust you to leave you here for a moment?"

Hermione stretched and nodded drowsily.

Poppy arrived moments later. Hermione could hear her coming from the tale-tell bustle of her starched skirts and chattering with Severus, then there was a flurry of activity – probing, clucking, humming, moving, and still more probing. Runes swirled and fluttered overhead, followed by a disapproving look by Poppy. It was the most matronly look in her matron arsenal.

"You've been ingesting too much headache potion," she said flatly. "But that's not causing Hermione's problems. Look here, Severus." Poppy pointed her wand at a sickly glyph, an unhealthy green, and hit it with a mediwizardry revealing spell. It melted and transformed into a darker sigil that made the pit of Severus' stomach plummet.

"She's been cursed."

* * *

_Her defense was ignored and, uh, too dull.  
The judge kicked the whole kit and caboodle.  
So married they would stay.  
There was courtship to pay,  
And, oh my, but Severus could canoodle!_

Limerick by Morethansirius


	14. Chapter 14 Gruel

**Chapter 14 - Gruel**

When she awoke, it was to the complete stillness of the Infirmary. One other student soundly slept behind scaffolding, having been banged about by some misfortunate accident, though what, Hermione could only guess. Anything was possible at Hogwarts, given all the dangers that lurked inside the school; it was a wonder so many of them made it to graduation at all. Hermione slowly sat up and rubbed at her temple.

The gash on her head was nearly superficial. Hermione had always been a bit of a bleeder, so it looked more serious than it actually was. That didn't stop Madam Pomfrey from wrapping her head up in an obscene amount of gauze. The matron had also insisted on bed rest and no guests outside of visiting hours until Hermione's concussion had been cleared. Hermione maintained Severus wasn't a guest. He was her husband and should come and go as he pleased, but the school matron would not be swayed and was just as resolute in her duties as ever.

Hermione was confined to the all-too familiar sight of the Hogwarts Infirmary. On the one hand, she was very grateful to Severus that he'd had the forethought to take her there instead of St Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey was the very model of discretion when it came to patients under her charge, but it meant Hermione was restricted to the Infirmary again, and she thought she had quite enough of that in her youth to last a lifetime. Confined. She resisted the urge to pout, stomp and proclaim life wasn't fair. She was an adult now, didn't that count for something? Apparently, no.

Gingerly, because there was a fair amount of gauze over part of her right eye, and she felt a little slow going, Hermione rose from the bed. That was when she discovered the bedpan.

"Oh is this _really_ necessary!" Hermione huffed.

Of course she had to go wee. That was part of the reason why she was getting up, but Hermione would not use a bedpan.

"I'm not an invalid," she muttered as her naked toes touched the icy stone floor. She cursed and cast her gaze about for slippers; there were none. She was not meant to get up then. The overprotective matron really had gone too far. Pushing around school children was one thing, Hermione thought, gritting her teeth against the snapping bite of the cold floor, but she was an adult and would not stand for coddling.

Her head spun for a moment as she righted herself, maintaining a firm and steadying hand on the bed frame. Hermione drew a few deep breaths, in and out, closing her eyes as the world in her head tilted and turned, but when she opened them back up again, everything was in its natural place. She gathered the stiff hospital robes tightly about her and took tentative steps towards the girls' lavatories.

Every step felt like walking upon tiny needles, and her hospital robes barely shielded her from the cold that permeated the castle, but Hermione carried on with resolution, one foot in front of the other. The door to the lavatory wasn't so far, and she carried herself with the singular determination of a tight-rope walker. At the halfway point, she paused to steady herself. That was when the floor slipped out from beneath her.

* * *

Severus quickly threw down his quill and massaged his hand. He hadn't been accustomed to so much writing recently, and old age had crept up on him. Before him, his fine, spiky scrawl wavered on the page and Severus closed his eyes to gather his thoughts. He'd always been a methodical thinker, taking on problems in a logical sequence. This follows that, sure as bacon follows eggs. As Hermione lay in the Infirmary down the hall, he found himself unable to think so linearly, and he wasn't sure if he had enough time for proper deductive reasoning. If she died before…

Severus refused to give any more voice to that line of thinking and snatched up his quill. There _would_ be an answer, a solution _would_ present itself. Closing the last book that had been a dud, Severus set it gently on the stack bound for the library and looked at the piles he had yet to sort through. Promising manuscripts of mysterious maladies, misfortunes and malformations were grouped together and sat next to records on reading runes and ruminations on rituals, followed by codices of curses, cures and conditions and handbooks of hexes both heartfelt and hateful.

Irma Pince had swallowed her cheeks when he'd trucked out three carts worth of her best books, but she hadn't said a word, nor had she stamped any of the books with a return date. She knew who was lying in the Infirmary; word got around the staffroom fast. Minerva had given Severus full access to Hogwarts resources and he didn't give a fart if the little rotters didn't have books to read. Not like they read them anyway.

Minerva had given him use of her private office, clearing it of her correspondence so he could work uninterrupted. It was just him, mountains of books to sort out, and a ticking mantle clock to remind him that he was on the job. Severus picked up the next tome from his 'high priority stack' and scanned the index looking for cross reference materials related to the curse-sigil revealed on Hermione. No direct citation was mentioned, but one of his research spells revealed something was buried within the text somewhere around page 200-ish.

Bugger. He'd have to read the book, then.

Severus stared at all 698 pages of the leather-bound tome. On one hand, reading obscure texts was an excellent way of gaining arcane knowledge and resurrecting old spells long-forgotten. On the other hand, he hadn't the time or inclination to read the book only to discover it mentioned Hermione's curse-sigil as a footnote or referencing someone else's work. But it was his sod's luck that the one book he didn't look through would hold all the answers he needed. The mantle clock ticked in an unpleasant way. Severus stuck the book to the side - perhaps later, if there were time.

Reaching for his next book, a horribly tattered and weighty volume three sizes larger than most, Severus reflected wistfully that it would have been far preferable that someone should have poisoned Hermione, or at least a good demonic possession. He would have at least known what to do then. Curses were a by-product of Charms and Dark Arts. Not that he wasn't good at Charms, he was – top marks, Dark Arts too if there were marks given for that – but his own specialty with curses tended to be in the giving and receiving side, not in the dismantling department.

The stench of real fear permeated Severus. He tried to swallow down his emotions, but they burned too hot within him. Hermione was dying. From the first day she showed a lack of talent for Apparition to the night he made anti-headache potion for her, the curse was speeding up, getting faster and growing in size and proportion. He had charted the Arithmancy to prove its gory doom. Hermione was on her death bed. She looked relatively healthy, she was alert and responded well, but unseen to the eye, she was fragile.

He just had to stay focused on what he could do to save her. _Stay focused!_ Worry without action is useless waste of energy.

When his stomach rumbled, reminding him of untouched tea and toast, the mantle clock chimed. As Severus picked up another book on cursed objects, there was a hesitant knock at his door. Relieved at the interruption, Severus called for entry and Pox, the speckled brown Infirmary elf, shuffled in.

Pox bowed lowly, his long nose nearly touching the carpet. "Miss Hermione is waking and feeling better, sir. The Matron is requesting sir for the consultation."

"I'll be there," he responded, his brow heavy as he waved the little thing off.

A formal request by the Matron for his professional expertise? Severus sighed heavily and closed the book. So, he was not being summoned to offer his wife emotional support or hold her hand. He was best put to use for his knowledge. Standing and stretching aching joints, Severus threaded his starched cravat through his collar and tied it with able dexterity, resolving to be all things Hermione needed.

Severus made his way through the orderly rows of infirmary beds until he reached the furthest bed in the back, nearest Madam Pomfrey's office. A linen scaffold had been erected around her bed for privacy, and Severus made his footsteps light as the carry of voices grew louder.

"I wouldn't say that," Hermione said in an affronted voice. "I've always been a picky eater."

"Being a fussy eater does not cause vomiting." Severus paused, his hand clenched. "How long has this been going on?" Poppy asked.

_Yes,_ he thought. _How long has she been hiding her symptoms from me?_

"Only about a week or so," Hermione confessed. "I've had to rely on my headache potion to keep things down, only sometimes it doesn't quite work."

Severus could hear her frown in the way Madam Pomfrey furiously scribbled notes.

"Now, I want to hear your other symptoms." Poppy's voice was tight and brooked no argument. "All of them."

Hermione sniffed. "Sometimes I have blurred vision. Not all over, mind you, just a little around the edges of my vision, like I'm seeing down a long tunnel which makes it difficult to read. Or I can't think of the simplest things. I don't know how to explain it, I just blank out on my thoughts."

Severus stepped forward around the curtain and joined Hermione. He nodded to her in a way he hoped she found reassuring while he peered at her chart.

"Continue," he urged.

Hermione fumbled with the bed sheet in her fingertips, looking lost and frightened amidst the swath of bandages. "Sometimes I get tingles."

He traded concerned glances with Poppy. "What kind of tingles?"

She brushed her finger from her temple across her cheek and down her neck. "I guess it's like the feeling of ants crawling on your skin, only it comes and goes."

"And you didn't find any of this unusual?" Severus asked.

"Well of course I did." Hermione crossed her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a stormy look. "I was working hard and feeling just a tad under the weather. Forgive me for not thinking I had been fatally cursed, it's not the first thing that pops into a girls' mind."

Severus reeled back with shock and closed his mouth. He looked at the woman, his wife, laid up in bed and realized how perversely altered their reality had quickly become.

"I apologize," he replied. "My comment was insensitive." He'd opened his mouth and inserted his foot and Severus wondered how many times he'd do it again.

Hermione shook her head briefly, her eyes slightly watering. "It's all right, you know. I guess we will all muddle through and make the best of it. I'm just not certain what I'm supposed to be doing right now; I certainly don't feel that bad. I ought to be able to get up and carry on with my work." The creases between her eyebrows deepened. "I'm at a loss."

"Well, I think I have all the wand readings and information I need right now," Poppy announced, taking up her things. "I'll leave you to it."

Severus drew up a chair as close to her bed as possible and sat down, taking her hand as soon as he was able. Her hand was soft and warm and he gripped it, pressing reassurance and concern through his fingertips. Hermione turned and gave him a pained smile. He could plainly read her exhaustion from the exam.

"Poppy told me about your tumble today," Severus said.

"Nothing Bruise Paste won't fix up. It was nothing."

"Nothing? You shouldn't have been out of bed in the first place," his gaze was sharp and reproving.

"I'm not an invalid, Severus, I've already heard it once from Poppy and I don't want to hear it again from you. Please don't treat me like a child who can't do for herself. It's not fair. I'm a fully capable adult and I think I can go to the loo on my own without supervision."

"Forget it; you know you've been badly cursed. I'll know more about it when Professor Weasley stops by, but it doesn't look good. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Yes, well, the thing is, I'm not dead yet, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask quite a lot from you. I need you to help me manage my affairs while I'm trapped here." She lifted her chin in challenge. "I hope you do realize I don't intend to do anything so dramatic as die while wearing an awful hospital gown."

Severus smirked. "Of course not. It would hardly be fitting for Hermione Granger."

Her eyes flashed. "Well, that settled, I have a rather small list of things to go over with you then. Firstly: my family; they must not be allowed to come here unless you're quite sure all hope is lost. I don't want to worry them without cause, and they'll likely be underfoot. They're wonderful parents, but magic took away their only child and they're still quite sore on the subject. If they learn magic has killed their only daughter, well…" Hermione shook her head. "It's best to avoid family drama unless it's absolutely necessary."

He nodded almost imperceptibly and made a mental note to send off a letter to the Grangers to keep them somewhat informed. They deserved to know their daughter was ill.

"And that just leaves us to worry about." She sighed heavily and glanced upward. "Our relationship has been rushed and we don't each other very well, at least, not as well as we ought."

The bottom of his stomach soured and Severus imagined he could fill in the rest of the conversation for her: _You're really nice, but this relationship just isn't working. It's not you, it's me._ Severus' limbs felt cold. Did he really have to listen to it?

"I think what I'm trying to say is, in the next few months, you may find out things about me that we haven't had a chance to discuss." She tilted her head to the side and caught his gaze. "Try not to judge me too harshly, okay?" Hermione gave his hand a small squeeze as she yawned.

Severus released a small sigh. Yes, there were plenty of things they hadn't had the opportunity to discuss. Their relationship was still yet new and untested. He'd held in many things for fear of scaring her away, and had stuck to more neutral topics. How would one-third of the Trio and paragon of the Light handle Death Eater stories? He didn't know if she'd spurn him for the acts he'd committed, but he knew that to move forward they would have to keep faith with one another. He kissed the back of her hand and leaned over her small frame.

"We will get through this together, Hermione," he murmured. "Now get some rest."

Minerva promised Professor Bill Weasley would be by as soon as his classes ended for the day. He was something of a dab hand with curses, having spent the first part of his career breaking them. Severus quietly held his breath and hoped Weasley would be able to sort this all out. As he opened the freakishly large tome on ancient curses, he scanned the brittle paper for whatever help he could find.

Hours later he was roused, not by the chiming mantle clock, but by a knock at the door, before an athletic redhead in professorial robes stood tall in the doorway.

"Professor Snape," he said with a curt bow of his head. "I've come to see if I can be of any use to you with Hermione."

He surveyed the eldest Weasley, the good looks that had gotten him into a bit of a clinch with the Samford sisters were still there, but so was his prominent were-scar, and deeper lines had accumulated into the character of his face. Clearly, he had undertaken the duties of his professorship seriously as to wear them heavily on his brow.

"It's Severus; I believe we're peers now." He gestured to the spare seat and handed over the day's scribblings.

Bill set his notes to the side and peered intently at Severus's precise drawing of the curse-sigil. He sat back and whistled lowly.

"Well, it's an unnamed curse, so we could be looking for anything. It's a bit of a mystery, isn't it? There are three key indicators in the sigil: first, it was activated by a trigger; second, it's progressive in nature; and third, but most important to our Hermione, it can be deactivated."

"I actually had that already," Severus said sourly. "I'm not one of your ickle firsties."

"Right, sorry, I shouldn't have forgotten you're, well, you. Have a look at this." He held up the curse-sigil Severus had carefully rendered and traced a path. "Do you see what shape ties it all together?"

Severus peered at it intently, he'd been staring at it all day looking for answers hidden within its complex form to reveal itself – "the trigger," he said as the answer became clear to him.

"Ten points to Slytherin. Which means, what?"

"Hermione's condition is related to the trigger. We can prolong her life and improve her health by understanding or avoiding the trigger."

"There are no flies on you, are there, Severus?" Bill said with a mischievous grin.

"Watch it, Weasley."

"Look, in my experience, it's best we go hunting for the trigger first. Since eighty percent of all triggers are cursed objects, it makes sense to scan Hermione's flat and workplace for any cursed objects and deactivate them. As it's a progressive type of curse, that means our girl is still in contact with it, so it should still be around for us to find. Don't worry, Hermione will be patched up in no time, and we'll have some clues leading us to whoever cursed her." Bill's eyes danced merrily.

"Hermione may not have that long." Severus' hand ghosted over the Arithmancy equations he'd drawn up. The prediction timeline started from her first headaches, those poor attempts at side-along Apparition, and as the curse grew stronger and more powerful, her outlook was bleak. Severus focused on Professor Weasley and turned away from the numbers.

"Nah, those predictive equations are great for textbooks and classrooms, but if tomorrow we find Hermione's cursed object, they won't mean anything. You shouldn't let yourself get scared over some numbers," Weasley said dismissively in a casual tone. "If I'm not worried about this, you shouldn't be worried about it either. I've seen a lot worse cases than this. "

Professor Weasley looked at the sigil parchment and tapped it with his finger thoughtfully. "There's something about this sigil that's vaguely familiar. I'm sure I've seen it somewhere before…"

Severus leaned forward, anxious to hear his next words.

"But I'll be damned if I can remember what it is. Oh, and Severus, did you have to remove every good book from the library? My fourth years won't be able to complete their essays."

Severus sneered.

After dinner Poppy allowed him to visit Hermione. He'd tucked into one of Hogwarts' famous hearty meals, not realizing how much he missed them until the tables were heavily laden with food. He relished every bite of the steak and kidney pie the elves had made especially for him. When he ducked out early to look in on Hermione, he found her sitting up in bed trying to stomach a thin porridge.

"How's the gruel?" he asked fondly.

"A triumph, as ever," Hermione responded, dropping her spoon into the bowl – it sank immediately to the clear bottom. She quickly set her meal on the bedside table. "Apparently, tasteless mush is supposed to help with my nausea and vomiting, though for the life of me, I can't tell how."

"It's less likely to irritate or trigger a response from you, if the curse is keyed to your emotions," Severus replied automatically, having spent an entire day reading about cursed objects and their triggers. "We have to get you stabilized first to find out what you can and cannot have." Severus carefully omitted information about Typhoid Mary, erroneously ascribed to a Muggle disease; she had spent her entire life battling her curse with nary a few books for company.

She lay back on the fluffed-up pillows and closed her eyes. "The doctors say I may never play piano again."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind, bad joke. Just fix me, Severus. You can do that, you and Bill are two of the finest minds in the wizarding world. This should be easy for you, and I'll be home before the cats even noticed I've left, right?"

Hermione took the drawing from Severus and studied the sigil that was attached to her life blood and energy. Carefully tracing the figure with her finger, Hermione was silent and contemplative.

"This has style in its form. It's a sophisticated piece of work, not amateurish at all." She smiled wistfully. "At least I wasn't brought down by shoddy workmanship. I don't think I could have stood for that."

"Do you have any ideas who might have sent you a cursed object?" Severus asked, pulling his seat closer to her. Severus placed his hand on top of hers and they locked eyes.

Hermione shrugged. "I have collected a few enemies over the years. To a lot of people who've never met me, as a war hero I represent something, but I've never been directly threatened. Besides, the majority of the wizarding population couldn't pull off a curse like this, or afford it."

"What about at work?" he mused. "Did you pass on publishing a story recently? The average wizard couldn't work a curse like this, but contributors to an academic journal like _Ars Alchemica_ and _Potions Quarterly_ could."

Hermione's posture stiffened. "No," she said hastily. "I don't work in acceptance and dismissals. I wouldn't look there."

He'd never needed Legilimency with school children – he'd had enough years of watching them lie to him to his face to detect disingenuity right off – and Hermione was a poor liar. He could push her for answers. With children, that usually involved threatening detention and unpleasant punishment, but he could already see her non-verbally shutting down. He knew enough from the knife incident with Bellatrix that Hermione didn't give up her secrets easily.

"All right," he said evenly. "Bill and I will search the flat, your work, and anywhere else you think would be helpful in finding a cursed object you might have come in contact with. We'll find the object, track down whoever's responsible and bring them to justice, and have it all tied up before those miserable cats even notice we've left. What do you say?"

Her smile was faint, but endearing to him. "You make it sound so easy."

What could he tell her – that he hadn't a clue where to begin and didn't want to scare her? That he didn't know himself? He'd just gotten used to the idea of being married, and couldn't bear to think that he'd be a widower soon.

"I don't want you to worry, Hermione. Just concentrate on keeping your energy up."

"I can help, you know. You're going to need someone to do research while you're turning over mountains looking for whoever cast this curse. I need something to do."

"Absolutely not," Severus said, putting his foot firmly down. "You cannot do anything that could compromise your health until your curse is deactivated."

"I can't sit in this bed all day, I'll go mad! Severus Snape, if you expect me to lie here day in and out and wither away, you've got another think coming. You need to put me on the team. I'm just as responsible for my recovery as you are, and just because I can't go out there and knock over baddies to get answers doesn't mean I can't make myself useful. Do you understand me?"

Severus sat back, momentarily arrested. "Knock over baddies? I think I'm married to a harpy."

"So, you've finally noticed."

"Very well," Severus said reluctantly. Hermione would be on the team. She'd been the brains of the Potter-Weasley team and might yet prove be the brains of the Snape-Weasley team. "I'll bring down some books you can help us comb through. And I'll want you to write up a chronological report of your symptoms and attacks, when they occurred, what facilitated them, what you were thinking about, perfumes in the air, everything, Hermione."

"I can do that," she asserted. "I'm just worried about one thing."

"Only one?" Severus smirked.

"I have no doubt of your professional capabilities, I have faith you'll break this curse, and soon. What worries me is what comes next – when you manage to track the signature to its sender. I've just gotten used to having you around, Severus. I don't fancy waiting another six years for you while you sit in Azkaban on Abusive Spellcasting charges for your vigilante justice."

"As it so happens, Minerva is in a special closed-door session with the Minister now. For some reason, she already has a special working group established with him. They're hashing out details of a task force to investigate your case as Dark Arts Terrorism. I'm on board to lead it."

"Ah, my mistake." Hermione threw her proud Gryffindor nose in the air. "It's Ministry-sanctioned vigilante justice; that makes it all better. Although, if Minerva is handling your affairs, you're probably in good company."

"Would you have it any other way? I might even get a job out of this one."

"I suppose not." She sighed. "And you are uniquely qualified."

Severus leaned in and smoothly arched his left eyebrow. "I am a very qualified wizard, now how about a kiss before I leave you for the evening?"

Severus retired to the Visiting Professors Guest Room, which provided an extremely comfortable bed. From the soft featherbed to the excellent quality linens, his good night's rest was assured, yet something pulled him from the depths of sleep. Severus cracked an eyelid, and woke up abruptly. Being intensely stared at by the Infirmary's house-elf had that affect on him. There had been too many nights as Head of Slytherin when he'd been awaken by Pox.

"How is she?" he asked, swinging his legs over the bed and finding his slippers.

Wide-eyed, Pox hung his head mournfully. "Is not good, sir. Is not good at all."

Severus sprinted the length of the darkened castle to get to the Infirmary. When he arrived, he found Poppy in her nightclothes with a most serious look on her face.

"It's another attack, Severus. I was alerted just a few minutes ago, the poor dear."

Saturated in sweat, and eyes closed against the candlelight, Hermione shook in her bed. Wan of pallor, there was a bluish tint around her dry, chapped lips.

Severus pressed his hand to her brow. "Fever."

"Most certainly," the Matron agreed. "With chills and dehydration, but I'm unable to take accurate wand readings. Her measurements are bouncing all over the scales."

He furrowed his brow. Treating a magical patient's symptoms without knowing a root cause was dangerous and often deadly. And they were working against an unknown curse with too many unpredictable variables.

Eyes firmly shut, Hermione's head thrashed and lolled to the side.

"Can we bring the fever down non-magically?" Severus asked.

"Like the Muggles do? With ice?" She frowned. "I suppose we could. It's not as effective as spellwork, and I've only done it a few times, but it's worth a try. She's burning up."

Between the two of them they worked together to create water, freeze it, then chip the ice. Poppy placed the small pieces in sacks at either side of her neck and under her armpits. A cool compress was put on her forehead.

Hermione reacted immediately. Her teeth chattered.

Poppy came close to him and whispered in a tone only for his ear, "I'm under strict orders from Minerva not to send her to St Mungo's, but Severus, they have a specialized spell damage and curse breaking ward. I'm not qualified to handle her case. As her husband, you can authorize her transfer."

He nodded. "Get the paperwork. I'll sign it."

There were times when he butted heads with the school Matron, defied her orders and tested her limits, but he never doubted her abilities. She was second to none for fixing jinxes and setting bones. And when she said a wound wouldn't leave a scar, she meant it. If Poppy thought Hermione ought to go to St Mungo's, Severus would take her there.

"Severus," Hermione said on labored breath.

He knelt in close to her.

"It's all right, Hermione," he assured her gently. "We're getting you help."

"Want the potion you made," she blindly pleaded. "It hurts so bad."

"We're taking you to St Mungo's. They'll get you a potion for the pain."

Hermione's fists clenched the starched sheets, balled up and twisted in agony. She breathed through it and her eyelashes became soaked with tears.

"No," Hermione begged. "I'm not leaving. I can't go there. I just need my blue potion."

Poppy was coming back with his paperwork. Severus shook his head. Incapacitated, she wasn't in the right frame of mind to make medical decisions for herself.

"Please, Severus. I can't leave. Please…" With every tired breath she repeated the same word. "_Please._"

With a feeling of innate wrongness, Severus turned towards Poppy. "I've changed my mind." Had she been one of his Slytherins, there wouldn't have been a hesitation. As he observed her trembling recumbent form he realized how much love had changed everything.

"Are you quite certain?" Poppy asked askance.

Severus stood at his full height. "Quite. At present she needs Sylvius Relief."

"Well, that may be a problem. We don't stock it anymore. There have been a lot of changes around here since you left, Severus."

"Damnation." Severus stomped his foot. He glanced briefly at Hermione, who was in desperate need of new linens and in a great deal of discomfort. "Even if I can find the potion's ingredients here at Hogwarts, hunting for them will take me away from her." Severus sighed.

Hermione coughed. "Don't leave me." Her eyes fluttered open to fix her stare upon him. Hermione desperately reached out her hand. "Please don't leave me, Severus. Don't leave me alone. I need you here. I need my husband."

"Oh gracious, child," Poppy said softly. "I wonder if Pox can do it."

As if summoned, Pox arrived with a snap and a bow.

Severus addressed the diminutive elf. "If I give you a list of potions ingredients, can you bring them to me? I need this to be done as quickly as possible."

Pox's ears flapped excitedly. "Yes!" he squeaked.

Severus began to dictate. "Four ounces washed gillyweed root…"

"I'll set up the brewing station," Poppy sighed.

When Pox was off, Severus sat down and delicately held Hermione's hand. He cradled it close to his heart and watched her as the curse ravaged her body. Little twitches in her brow, along her lips, body aches, and panting shallow breaths all took their toll through the night. Severus gingerly mopped her brow and refreshed the cool compress.

The waiting was miserable. Hermione was in absolute anguish, and he could only witness her suffering. Watching her suffer was worse than anything had been inflicted upon him in his life.

Unable to stand it anymore, Severus swore. "Where is that goddamned elf?"

"Pox is upon ye," he called out, tottering down the Infirmary, potions ingredients precariously balanced in his arms. "Almost there."

Severus hastened to the elf, swooping up the much-needed supplies and ingredients.

"I've prepared your table," the Matron said brusquely with a nod to the Infirmary workbench.

"Thank you," he replied sincerely.

All of his ingredients were provided, and as before, collecting the ingredients was the larger task. The potion itself took very little time to brew, although this time he had no éclair to offer Hermione. Severus worked swiftly and expediently to prepare her potion. At one point he nearly took the tip of his finger off in his haste. When the milky brew dissolved to a perfectly clear turquoise, Severus didn't have the time or inclination to admire the potion's beauty. He strode straight for Hermione.

She was in the violent throes of a shuddering muscle spasm.

Severus set the potion on the bed stand.

"Hermione," he called. "Hermione." There was no response from her.

"Matron!" Severus yelled at the top of his lungs.

Poppy whisked in. "Oh dear."

"What do I do?" Severus barked.

"Non-magically?" Poppy said. "I don't know."

With a great breath of air, Hermione suddenly relaxed. The terror that had gripped her had passed. Hermione winced.

"Head," she cried weakly. "My head."

Severus swiped the potion from the bed stand. With hands that heal, Severus gently administered the potion. He watched intently for changes to her features. Slowly, she relaxed. The tension around her eyes and forehead loosened. Her jaw slackened. Quickly, her exhausted body found sleep.

Severus sat in the bedside chair, his fist curled around the simple turquoise potion, ready at a moment's notice, if need be to administer it again. He watched. The steady rise and fall of her chest. The melting ice placed around her. His beloved wife in a hospital bed.

At some point Poppy returned. "You ought to get some rest," she said quietly.

He blinked, as if he'd just noticed her presence. She brought in bed linens and Hermione's chart.

"That's not necessary," Severus replied dismissively.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow quirked up. Wand out, Poppy dexterously managed to bathe Hermione and change her bed linens in an efficient, practiced manner. When the task was finished, she turned on Severus. "This still happens to be my Infirmary, Severus, and visiting hours are over."

"Are you kicking me out?" He frowned.

The Infirmary doors spread open wide. "Good night, Severus," she said tartly.

He leaned over his slumbering bride and kissed the top of her brow. "Good night, Hermione."

* * *

_Fate is known to be fickle and cruel,  
But Severus Snape is nobody's fool.  
So to Poppy he ran.  
She will do what she can.  
Even if it means Granger gets gruel._

Limerick by Morethansirius


	15. Chapter 15 Heartbreak

**Chapter15 – Heartbreak**

There was a hard thumping noise. It jolted Severus from a deep sleep, scattering parchments and sending a book flying to the floor. He'd taken a few light reading materials to bed and passed out completely. Severus swore at his lack of discipline. He'd been determined to awake before dawn, but bold daylight filtered between the heavy curtains of the Visiting Professors' Guest Room. Someone knocked insistently on the outer door again, and Severus wiped the drool from his stubbly chin.

Throwing open the door, he was disappointed to be confronted with Hermione's most notorious accomplices, ready and eager to assist him like bouncing young pups. They'd both broken out their best robes and managed to take a brush to their boots, though the Weasley whelp sported shaving foam behind his left ear. Severus closed his eyes to gather his strength.

A mid-level Auror and a Junior Quidditch League benchwarmer.

He would have preferred the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, who had years of curse breaking expertise, but he had classes to teach. And though Minerva really did have a soft spot in her heart for her Gryffindor cubbies, there was the small matter of a school to run. Thus, Severus found himself in the unenviable position of relying upon more Weasleys for help. It was awkward.

"Blimey, you look like you just woke up," Ronald said.

Harry nudged Ron with his shoulder and the two wizards exchanged hard stares.

They were men. Grown wizards and older than he'd been when he'd started teaching at Hogwarts, but even though they were eye-level to him – taller in Weasley's case – he had to struggle to see them as such. Admittedly, it happened with all of his ex-students. He took a quick breath and prompted himself to be open-minded.

"We'll just give you a minute to get sorted, then," Ronald said, backing away. "Catch you up in the adjunct office?"

"Ten minutes." Severus nodded. "And don't touch anything until I get there."

As the two wizards trundled down the flagstone hallway, Severus shook his head.

When he entered the office, their heads were bent close together, whispering fiercely – which ceased the moment he entered the room. Severus' brow tightened and furrowed, assuming the thick crease he'd worn his entire teaching career. Potter and Weasley were plotting. Very soon, he'd have a headache and if his tic returned…

Harry started. "We were thinking we'd split up to search for Dark artifacts, cursed objects or any clues that could lead us to our perpetrator." Ronald nodded his head vigorously. "Ron and I could search Hermione's workplace and you could search her house."

There was a collective pause as the two younger wizards tried not to squirm. Severus was torn between falling on old teaching habits and giving up. On one hand, they were obviously hiding something, which never ended well and usually required a well-timed rescue, much pain and groveling, and friends in very-high-places to make it all neatly disappear from permanent records. And on the other hand, he liked their idea. It was a reasonable distribution of labor that allowed Severus to work unencumbered, while preventing Weasley from gaining access to Hermione's apartment. It was unsettling how quickly Severus agreed to their plan.

He Apparated directly into her apartment. At the sound, two cats ran to him from the direction of her bedroom, and both his own grey mouser and Hermione's ginger tom gave him loud comment. As Severus started for the kitchen, Crookshanks blocked his path by threading dangerously between his feet.

"Move cat! Are you trying to kill me?" He glared at the golden eyed beast. Crooks did not blink. "Fine," he huffed. "Your mistress is okay. She's receiving medical attention and needs my help to look for cursed or dark objects."

Crookshanks sat back on his haunches and looked at Ushanka.

"You know where there's a cursed object?" Severus asked surprised. The magical cats turned tails and sauntered off towards Hermione's bedroom. In the closet they pushed aside the shoes Hermione had scattered and scratched at the wooden floorboards.

There was a very good Notice-Me-Not spell in effect, one he'd missed when he had searched the apartment before, but the felines could see right through the magic. Severus cancelled the spell, and it revealed where the flooring could be pulled up. There below was a hollow, and in the hollow lay a deceptively simple box. The cats smugly waited for their praise. Ushanka paused to groom herself.

"You'll never let me forget this," Severus muttered, sitting on the floor. "Right, you miserable lot, clear away so I can work on this."

Crookshanks and Ushanka darted beneath Hermione's bed. Severus looked over his shoulder at the two small noses peeking out beneath the dust ruffle – he would have been happier if they'd cleared off completely, but that wasn't likely to happen. He turned his attention to the thin black case that sat in the niche. Spellwork detected it was moderately protected and had an aura of Darkness, but he couldn't trace a curse. Unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and rolling them up, Severus took the plunge and removed the protective barriers between him and the case. Nothing happened.

"If something bad happens to me," Severus ordered the cats, "run and get help."

He opened the case.

It was Bellatrix's wand.

Severus exhaled.

"She kept this?" The wand dropped from his fingers. Small furry faces butted his hands and Severus stroked the warm purring fluffs that appeared in his lap and on his thigh as he tried to regroup his scattered thoughts. The blow of failure was softened by kneading paws and the rumbling purrs that sounded like they came from gravel trucks.

It wasn't the wand – it couldn't be the source of Hermione's misfortune. He might ask what in nine hells possessed her to keep it, but that was a long conversation for later, preferably lubricated with good wine. Gently removing the shedding wee beasties from his person, Severus stood and reassessed the small apartment, and began casting powerful detection spells.

Every corner was searched. Every floorboard was inspected. Every cupboard was overturned.

It was exhausting, thorough, and absolutely maddening.

The sum total of all magical objects within Hermione's flat came down to:

Floo powder

Litter box

Photographs

Spill barrier on computer

Kitty door

Self-washing frying pan – in its original box

Hogwarts trunk carefully packed with old school items

And there had been a minor echo of magic from the pair of part-Kneazles, which was interesting but not earth-shattering, and certainly not the source of her mystery curse. Severus refilled their food and water and left them extra treats to thank them for their help.

Exhausted, Severus came to rest in the window frame overlooking the back garden where his canvas tent sat. It was the exact place Hermione stood at night, watching Severus retreat for bed. He knew she watched him and always gave her a little good night wave before disappearing beneath the canvas folds. Severus pressed his hand to the glass where Hermione's smudge streaks were, an indescribable cold from the window passed through his body. Severus trembled slightly from the chill. His Hermione – would she ever again stand watch over him?

He stepped away from the window and took a moment to refocus on his task. The tent would require searching. Although it had been in her possession for a long time and he'd been living in it unaffected, it fit within their timeline and could not be overlooked. Severus walked directly to the tent without sparing the window a backward glance.

Once in the tent, he gave his Hogwarts crates a considering look. Boxed by school elves, they held the accumulated treasure of his teaching years – which admittedly wasn't that glorious, but occasionally he confiscated some truly wicked objects from the little buggers. Anything was possible. Severus started there.

By the third box he was certain most of the elves had ignored the potions equipment he had specifically set aside in favor of packing scrolls of old homework parchment. None of them were cursed. Bobby Boykin's was charmed to read "SNAPE SUCKS" upon incineration. The eighth box held all of the potions equipment he had set aside – it was crammed in together so tightly Severus' heart sunk. His boxes of professorial robes were equally depressing. Then he knew: he harbored no secret desire to ever wear those robes ever again. All of his books had been jammed into a single magically reduced crate as well. When he opened it, it popped loose like a spring, showering him with precious antique tomes; Severus barely had time to raise his arms to deflect them.

Crates littered the tent, up-ended contents of his miserable former life covered every available surface and radiated plenty of magic. From the additional charms he'd carefully laid on each of his boots and robes to the protective seals he'd placed on his beloved – and now mouldering – Potionry supplies. Even the stitching charms he'd added to his threadbare Muggle jeans – his personal effects thrummed magic like a heartbeat, strong and clear. None of it was cursed. There was some fiddly black magic laced in there, hidden mostly in the books, but nothing that would have sickened Hermione. He'd struck out again.

Severus incinerated the scrolls of homework without a second glance. He packed his books in the parchments' space, and with resignation he packed up the rest of his belongings until the final object – Eel Eyes in Oil remained. Severus stared at the little bottle which really wasn't much use for anything, but had given so many children fits.

With Hermione's flat and his crates off the list, Severus eyed the tent suspiciously. It had been with the Trio during the hunt for Horcruxes. The Dark Lord's soul had resided within the tent for months, making it both creepy and worth searching. Without anything to lose Severus began again. Within ten minutes he was finished.

"Damn and blast!" He stomped. "You'd think there would be something around here."

Pivoting on his heel, Severus loosened his collar as he stormed out of the tent. Once in Hermione's flat, his eyes skipped over her furniture, the bookshelves, mantle, picture frames that held photographs of other people. They should have pictures of them together – soon, sometime, if he could get her through this. If _he_ could just get through this. Then there would be pictures of them together – happy ones, too.

Frustrated, Severus wanted to lash out and howl, scream and kick. The cats must have felt his anger because they stayed firmly away. He felt useless in Hermione's time of need. While she was lying in a hospital bed, desperately in need of his help, he hadn't turned up so much as a dirty Sickle. Severus clenched his jaw and tightened his fists; he cast his gaze around the flat one more time for something of use or value before giving it all up as a bad job.

"I might as well join the boys," he sighed.

Resigned to playing tag-along to Harry and Weasley, Severus searched Hermione's bookshelves for her copies of _Ars Alchemica_ and _Potions Quarterly_. While he'd been to their publishing offices once before, it had been a long time and he wanted to refresh his memory of the location to prepare for Apparition, but none of Hermione's copies were current issues.

Severus hastily scanned the pages looking for Hermione's editorial credit – he found it in microscopic print.

_H.J. Granger – publishing assistant_

For some unaccountable reason, Severus' nose twitched. The wizarding street where the publisher's office sat was known to him, and without much delay, Severus Apparated to the street corner, ignoring his rough appearance and the looks people passing gave him. Severus stormed the front door of the unassuming office building, scaring the receptionist out of her seat.

"Misters Potter and Weasley," he demanded. "Are they here?"

The young wide-eyed clerk shook her head. "No, sir." Her forehead wrinkled as she flipped through the day's calendar. "Are they expected for the Cooperative Agreement meeting?"

Severus had already passed her desk and started on the staircase.

"But sir," she called from below. "You can't go up-"

Publishing assistants and editorial aids scattered from his path like ickle firsties afraid of losing House Points. The furthest office at the end of the hall belonged to P.W. Hudgepot, a strange duck of a wizard who had the nerve to publish articles better suited to the Quibbler, but only after polishing them with just enough real magical science to look nearly academic… if you squinted and cocked your head to the side. And Severus had never gotten over how the fish-lipped wizard had creatively edited his treatise on sugar cane in Potionry to sell more copies.

Severus opened his door without knocking and advanced into the room. There were times when needs trumped over social niceties.

"Snaaape!" Hudgepot shrieked, spilling tea all over his cravat. He stumbled to his feet, wiping at tea with manicured fingers. "About the article, I can explain!"

In a deathly cold voice, Severus asked, "Where are Misters Potter and Weasley?"

Hudgepot licked his lips and made a constipated face. "Potter and Weasley? They're, uh, not here?"

"Show me Hermione Granger's desk."

At that, P.W.'s eyes bulged, his neck sank into his collar and he pressed a finger to the desk call box as he began to sweat. "Nancy," he said tightly. "Can you come to my office, please?"

"You see, Mister Snape It's not my fault. It's been so long that Miss Granger has been uh… assigned to our records division that I'm not sure if she has a desk." Sweat poured down Hudgepot's scalp as he gave a pleading smile. "Perhaps just a locker, or um... place to hang her coat?" He swallowed loudly.

"She isn't employed by your firm," Severus said, his shoulders barely slumping.

"Yes, of course she is," Hudgepot replied a little too quickly, casting his gaze about his crowded office. "We were very pleased to employ her right upon her graduation from Hogwarts and have always been happy to support the cause."

"As an editing assistant?" Severus asked.

Hudgepot nodded emphatically.

"And is Hermione Granger still an editing assistant?" Severus continued, visibly raising his wand.

He paled. "I think you'd better ask Minerva McGonagall," Hudgepot gasped.

Severus swept from the room.

By the time he had Apparated back to Hermione's flat Severus was steaming. His wand, still warm in his palm, was flicked in a great arch as soon as a plan had materialized in his mind. He gave instruction to the awaiting patronus and watched it scamper off. Within minutes, Harry and Weasley were knocking at Hermione's door; Severus let them in and watched them quickly stumble over each other to get through the door.

"You found something!" Harry said, brandishing his wand. "Where is it?" Weasley hurriedly asked at the same time.

The cats, curious and raised from their mid-afternoon nap, sauntered in from the bedroom stretching and yawning. Ushanka sniffed the newcomers with an upturned nose. Crooks licked his paw. Neither feline seemed particularly impressed or bothered by the intrusion.

Severus drew up close to the pair and in a voice like venom said, "You let me run in circles. You knew I wouldn't find anything in here."

Harry winced. That was all Severus needed to confirm his suspicions.

"Weasley, what's that stain on your shirt?"

"It's my lunch, Snape. It was a bit greasy."

Severus leaned forward, inspecting the shirt stain which was not made by grease. He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "And the residue on your arms? I suppose next you'll tell me you volunteered to clean the chippy."

The redhead stared at the ceiling in great concentration before answering, "I was applying sunblock when your Patronus turned up, didn't have time to rub it in. I thought I was helping Hermione by coming here, but I guess it was a false alarm, eh, Snape?"

Ron rubbed the pinkish residue into his skin as Harry squeamishly looked away.

"Harry," Severus asked in a bored voice. "Can you explain why there is wet fecal matter on Ronald's shirt?"

"Because a snake took a dump on him."

"Shut it, Harry." Ronald jostled his friend.

"And the residue?" Severus prompted.

"Snake goo," Harry answered. Weasley bristled.

"Snakes do not _goo_." Severus frowned. "They are not slimy creatures; their scales are made of keratin. Snakes don't even produce mucous, which is a lot more than I can say for you snotty boys."

Harry folded his arms in a defiant stance. "Yeah, well these snakes do."

"Harry," Ronald gritted out.

"It's no use, Ron. We need him and he's already involved." Harry held out his hand to Severus for a side-along Apparition. "Best come with us." Severus didn't hesitate to take the outstretched hand.

The crushing suck of Apparition was only matched by a dizzying landing on unfamiliar ground. Wet with dew, uneven and moist enough that his heels immediately sunk into the ground, Severus didn't like wherever he'd been taken. The overgrowth of shadowy forest blotted out the sun and chilled the air, even without the perfume of Dark magic, he felt trepidation.

Ronald rolled his eyes and plowed forward holding back branches. "It's through here."

They followed a small plodded path, no more than a goat trail, for half a kilometer – the distance of anti-Apparition wards. Severus was tempted to ask many questions, and some of the vegetation answered his most basic questions, but he held his tongue, waiting for the right time.

Ronald turned over his shoulder and said sourly, "We're here."

The camp clearing came into view. In the center of it sat a whitewashed cottage shed, the sort favored by gardening enthusiasts and tinkers. All that was missing were flowerboxes under its cheerful windows.

Severus stopped and blinked. There was a bleeding gnome figurine out front.

Harry had gone inside and Ron ducked his head beneath the low hanging doorway. "You coming in or what?"

Severus wiped his boots off on the welcome mat and mentally prepared himself to follow white rabbits in search of his Alice.

He took a moment to inspect the space. The wooden shed was set up as a comfortable living room, replete with a tea trolley. Severus instantly spotted one of Hermione's trashy romance novels jammed between the cushions of an overstuffed couch, filling him with a modicum of relief – Hermione had found a bit of home life here. The space was cozy, inviting and magically enlarged. It also featured a below ground stairway. The top of Weasley's red hair was disappearing from view as Severus dashed to keep up with the clattering sound of their footfalls.

The winding shaft was lit by miner's lights and held up with brackets and braces. Carved out of rock from an old quarry, anterooms and other shafts splintered off. Inured to the brisk chill, Severus kept up with the pair ahead as they descended. Though the miner's lights stayed at the same regular intervals, it seemed to get darker, the deeper into the earth they traipsed.

The staircase ended in a grandiose candlelit chamber and Severus gritted his teeth out of reflex. It was flamboyantly dramatic, and if at the end of the cavern Severus had the misfortune to meet the next Dark Lord, he was going to give up. Let Azkaban have him – he was done. Stone walls were covered in bookcases and scroll organizers. Large tables were laid out with heavy books and thick parchments. The cavern was cluttered with an excess of parchment and arcane books – that was how Dark Lording started.

"Fuck," Severus whispered beneath his breath.

Swots and ideologues gathered together with bigheaded thoughts and cobbled together esoteric knowledge for local flavor, and before you know it – BAM! Cultish following and robes that needed special laundering. The boys were up ahead while Severus skimmed over some of the Dark texts that were littered on library tables. He and Hermione were due for a talk.

At the back of the cavern sat a desk, with the last person Severus expected to run as candidate for next Dark Lord.

"Severus," Arthur warmly greeted, shuffling forward with a handshake.

Severus took Arthur's hand and shook it warily.

"Boys, I think you can go back to the site now. Ron, your mother packed you another shirt in your locker," he said dismissing them.

When the wizards had left, Arthur invited Severus to sit down with him at one of the overlarge library tables. Even though Arthur Weasley was his contemporary, it felt like a Weasley-family fatherly chat. Severus wanted to flee; instead, he politely declined tea and biscuits. Although food was often placed out on display, Lord Voldemort never approved of people eating in front of him – it mocked his inability to join in.

Severus had no desire to taste a Crucio for tea and cakes.

"Severus," Arthur began. "I've looked forward to this conversation for a long time."

The pit of his stomach plummeted. He was getting too damn old to bow and scrape; his knees wouldn't take it anymore.

"We share a common bond, you and I. According to our research, we're the only people who've ever survived Nagini's bite. Sure, Harry took a scratch, but that was patched up with Ditany. Only you and I walked away from the real thing."

Severus recoiled and blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Arthur nodded in agreement. "It's troubling to me as well. I'm sure we've both had a lot of sleepless nights thinking of our attacks."

Actually, Severus thought, his attack and near-death experience was the least troubling of his night terrors – most of those surrounded the Muggle-baiting, raids and dark rituals he endured, but he understood Arthur's perspective.

"And that's what makes our work here so vital to the magical community," he finished.

"Arthur, pardon me for asking, but what the hell are you doing down here?"

Arthur Weasley's brow furrowed in confusion. "The boys didn't tell you?" Severus shook his head and Arthur sighed wearily. He rubbed at his shoulder where, if Severus' memory served correct, was one of the places Arthur had been bitten. "That's probably just as well. We are a bit tight-lipped about our work down here. We can't have word getting out about it, but you're already familiar with Nagini's hybrid qualities."

"Quite," Severus replied. Creating the antivenin that had saved Arthur and himself had required nothing less than genius – even if he never received credit for it.

"Well in short, Nagini bred… with You-Know-Who."

The breath in Severus's body escaped him. The word _fuck_ danced a merry jig in his head – he couldn't cobble together a single thought other than _fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck_.

Arthur ploughed onward. "We were first made aware of clutches of eggs when we raided Voldemort's stronghold following the Final Battle. Peter Pettigrew kept records of the clutches, and that was our first warning about the eggs – "

"Why wasn't I told about this?"

"You were in Azkaban," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "I tried to get you paroled early, but for confidentiality reasons, we're not directly affiliated with the Ministry – they can't keep anything secret. And without revealing why we needed you, the Wizengamot wouldn't allow it. Besides, you were only in for six years. And really, what's six years?"

"And you didn't tell me as soon as I was released?" Severus roared.

"We tried to get you on board, through Malfoy Industries, but you refused to work for Lucius – that job announcement was tailored for you," Arthur responded patiently. "Now, Peter Pettigrew's record indicated the relative location of nine clutches, but since then we've come to believe there may be up to eleven."

This time, he did swear aloud. "Fuck."

"It's been our job to search out and destroy clutches. When eggs have already hatched, things get a bit tricky. They'll eat each other in the nest, and I suppose that's to be expected, but if they make it past the containment field, it's a complete disaster. Many of the snakes possess very unique characteristics."

Incredulously, Severus asked, "This is Hermione's job?"

"Yes, and she's very good at it," he said proudly.

"You put my Hermione in charge of hunting down genetically modified serpents?"

"And research. My team wouldn't be where we are without her."

"Your team?" Severus asked disbelieving.

"Oh yes, Minerva liaises directly with the Minister. I handle things from down here," Arthur said with a smile. "Hermione takes care of research and hunting clutches and snakes – Ron helps out when he can. Harry monitors Auror communications for reports of big snakes or anything suspicious. And Malfoy Industries are subcontracted to create designer antivenin. We've been very successful at our task."

"Until Hermione was cursed."

Arthur's proud smile fell flatly. "Yes, well, that's been unfortunate."

"It's a little more than unfortunate," Severus summed up. If Arthur's piss-poor behind-the-desk management led to his wife's early grave, he would repay the favor threefold. A heavy weight sat across his brow and Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no satisfaction to be had in punishing the Weasley clan for Hermione's death – she would still be lost to him. And the search for Hermione's Dark cursed object multiplied and magnified beyond his grasp.

Clutches of eggs fathered by the Dark Lord; they would be safeguarded similarly to his Horcruxes.

"Oh, Hermione," he moaned.

Arthur gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and stood up. "Would you like to see some of them? They can be kind of cute."

"You don't destroy them?" Severus asked.

"Not if they've hatched. Hermione insists on studying their capabilities and has even learned basic Parseltongue. She swears it's an issue of nature verses nurture."

That sounded like his Hermione. Severus softly sighed.

He followed Arthur up several flights of stairs into a cavern vivarium. Hermione had laid out the space logically with each enclosure well marked. Clipboards with her loopy handwriting dangled from the walls. He and Hermione definitely had to sit down and have a talk. The spawn of the Dark Lord and Nagini were not pets. Research or no, the planet would be best served if he killed the little blighters.

"This one is a paludarium simulating Far East Asia. They like this type of enclosure best." Arthur tapped on the glass and smiled at the fat snake wound lazily around a branch. "Of course we have to keep them separated or else they'll try and kill each other."

It didn't particularly look like evil incarnate, but one could never be too sure about that sort of thing and Severus always tried to keep a weather-eye out for beasts that would make a meal out of him.

The next snake bared its fangs and struck repeatedly at the magical barrier between them. Arthur shrugged. "He does that."

Severus saw snakes. Big fat snakes, thin wiry snakes, snakes with hypnotic eyes and the ability to summon objects. None of them looked possibly related and there was no distinguishable pattern to their scales.

"Different periods of Voldemort's lifetime, Hermione theorizes." Arthur explained. "Some of them have also taken a particularly long time to hatch, which may have something to do with Voldemort's virility."

His wife was contemplating the Dark Lord's virility. He felt sick on her behalf.

After the tour of the cavern he quietly vowed to incinerate, Severus faced his guide and asked the only important question. "Where can I start looking for what cursed Hermione?"

Arthur nodded in understanding. "You need to go out to the last hatch site. Our caverns have already been cleared."

It was late in the evening when Severus returned to Hogwarts, trudging up the stone path bone-weary and reeking of snake goo. When she saw him, Madam Pomfrey didn't fuss after him; she picked up her lantern and retired to her quarters. He made his way to Hermione's bed in the corner, away from the students and surrounded by privacy panels, and saw she was sleeping. Severus removed his mud-caked boots. As gingerly as he could without disturbing her sleeping form, he lay in bed next to her.

"Sev'rus," Hermione said sleepily. "Mmmm. Is that you?"

He curled his arm around her and snuggled into her ear. "I'm sorry I wasn't back earlier."

"You missed the gruel," she reported. "It was extra gruely with some floaty bits."

Hermione sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "You stink."

"I know. It's snake goo."

"Snakes don't goo," Hermione gently corrected. "They can't even produce mucous, Severus."

"I know, Hermione. I know."

"Did you find anything at my hatch site?"

"Not today, but I will."

Hermione turned her face to look at him up close, by moonlight Severus could see her tiny freckles and eyelashes. She kissed him on his nose. "You will."

She cuddled closer to him, and slept securely against his chest. Severus closed his eyes and dreamed of giant man-eating snakes.

* * *

_Keeping Bella's wand was a mistake_

_He'd scold her when she was awake_

_then all covered in goo_

_to her sickbed he flew_

_And Severus knew instant heartbreak_


	16. Chapter 16 Goo?

**Chapter 16 - Goo?**

The first rays of morning light filtered through the tall Infirmary windows, highlighting dust motes and sending beams of sunshine onto the recumbent couple. Hermione shielded her eyes against the intrusion by burrowing her face deeper into Severus' chest and cuddling closer. Severus tightened his arms about her and smiled.

"Good morning," he murmured. "Did you sleep well?"

Hermione responded with something indistinguishable and a yawn. Overnight her face had transformed. Pale and colorless, save unhealthy dark circles beneath her eyes, Hermione's face had become gaunt. Even her pretty lips had lost their color. Not wanting to cause alarm, Severus observed her poor condition without comment.

"You need breakfast," Severus surmised.

She made a sour face. "Breakfast is gruel." Hermione huffed. "Gruel, gruel and more gruel, and then one day _pop!_ I'm just going to turn into gruel."

Arching an incredulous eyebrow, Severus thought Hermione already looked half-starved with wrists thin enough to snap. Serving prisoner rations to a malnourished-looking woman seemed illogical.

"Far be it for me to go against our dear Matron's instructions –"

"She called you the worst patient she's had in forty years," Hermione interrupted. "Not the worst patient ever, mind you. Just the worst in forty years."

"I was about to suggest it might be best if we keep your strength up with proper nutrition, Hermione. But if you don't want breakfast in bed before she makes her early morning gruel rounds, I'll understand. My thorough understanding of anatomy, physiology, potionry, and biology could not possibly stack up against the Matron's hen plucking."

Hermione looked pained as she licked her dry and cracked lips. "Do you think the elves have egg custard tarts this early? It's been years since I had one."

The castle elves were under strict orders not to deliver food to the Infirmary, but Severus knew from long experience that they made deliveries outside the door. And while most rule-breaking children found adventure and expulsion making midnight raids to the kitchens for snacks, the savvier Slytherins could obtain services from good elves by telling a decent sob-story.

Severus returned within minutes, arms laden with breakfast goodies earmarked for the Great Hall.

"No egg custard tarts today." He handed Hermione a large slice of buttered toast with marmalade. "They promise there will be some tomorrow." Personally, he thought Minerva would have kittens when the elves served egg custard tarts the next morning for breakfast, but Hermione would get her treats.

Severus smiled as Hermione cheerfully bit into crisp toast. She relished every bite with little happy sounds. They shared a quick hot breakfast and were rid of the evidence before Madam Pomfrey made her morning rounds.

Hermione pretended to be interested in her bowl of gruel while Severus read the handwritten notes of her activities since first noticing symptoms of being cursed. To say he didn't like any of it was putting it mildly. While he'd been sitting on the couch watching movies and contemplating curry take-away, his dear wifey was fiddling with Dark Magics beyond her abilities and trapping venomous man-eating snakes.

"You should have told me," he grumped.

"Couldn't," she replied, delicately laying her head on his shoulder. "But I wanted to. I was waiting on authorization and I was hoping to be able to bring it up soon..."

"You shouldn't have worked at Encampment Four by yourself. That area hasn't been properly cleared."

"I know, I know, but they've hatched already and they're so close to civilization," she sighed tiredly. "I don't ever want to find out about another nest the same way we did with the Flint family."

Not knowing what else to do, Severus leaned over and kissed his wife on her forehead.

Save Hermione. Kill snakes. Destroy nests. Retire peacefully. That was his new plan, then take up a stupid hobby and travel. He'd always wanted a Panama hat.

"Love you," he said softly, surprising her. "Now get plenty of rest and behave for the Matron – I want to hear a good report from her when I get back."

Hermione snorted. "You sound like my father."

"Perish the thought. Just do as she tells you, and no more adventures climbing out of bed." Severus supplied her with fresh notebooks and quills to keep her busy and stave off the boredom. "I'll return as soon as I find something."

"I know you will." She smiled. "I have every faith."

Severus left Hogwarts after a quick word to Minerva about Hermione's care, and after Minerva had a quick word to him about the merits of showering. It was the first time he actually deserved the criticism.

He met Arthur and Ronald at the garden shed. Ronald was intimately involved with a bacon sandwich Molly Weasley had packed for him. A hamper sat on the ground along with several discarded wax paper sandwich wrappings.

"Good morning, Severus. Harry's tied up today," Arthur explained, extending his arm out for a firm handshake. "There's some big disturbance at the office because that Prophet reporter, Romilda Vane has vanished and most the department is still out looking for rogue Death Eaters who lit up all those Morsmordre."

Severus frowned; Vane should have returned as planned. It was never his intention to leave her stranded and helpless; he just needed her gone during their court proceedings. Her Portkey should have sent her back to England without troubles. A cold uneasiness struck his chest. Vane's disappearance was worrying. Between Morsmordre and Vane, all of his sins were going to come back to haunt him, now, when he needed help the most.

"I see," he said neutrally. "I'm sure Ronald and I will get along just fine."

"I can only do a ha-day." Ron gummed around a rasher. "I's a game." He shrugged.

Severus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Right, we'll start where we left off and you can just leave whenever you need to, then." Severus nodded. "Ready for it?"

Ron looked longingly at the picnic hamper. "I'll keep this warmed up for you back at the shed, son," Arthur said.

While Portkeys to Hermione's hatch site were distributed Arthur tried making an inspiring speech about heroism and self sacrifice – once more into the breach, dear friends – something to remember when they were up to their ears in foul snake muck. Severus activated his Portkey immediately. He highly doubted the wizard had actually actively worked any of the hatch sites.

Severus descended onto the southernmost hill of the Forbidden Forest. It was an area of little regard given the sprawling size of the forest and its distance from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, except when continent-crossing hybrid serpents were in the neighborhood. They were an invasive species.

The containment area around Encampment Four was shielded by multi-layered protective wards put in place by Hermione herself. Harry had granted him access the day prior, but as Severus knew, access to the site did not ensure its safety. Severus pried the first layers back and entered through a narrow gap – taking down the containment wards could prove disastrous. As soon as he entered the containment area, he could feel the forest change.

Outside, there was life. The rhythm of the forest was continual with birds, animals and insects chanting together in discordant harmony. Inside the protective warding, there was stillness, an unnatural silence that signaled land unfit to inhabit. Severus hadn't yet approached the nest itself, but the tang of Dark Magic permeated the air. It stank of blood and bile. Those who had been sacrificed had given more than a hand for the Dark Lord. Those who had been sacrificed could have included himself – anyone bearing the mark would have been considered a willing victim. It went far to explain many of their lost recruits and those who had displeased their Lord on his mercurial whims.

Severus stood quietly and let his eyes absorb as much detail as possible. The day previous, he'd followed the boys, and had been in such a frantic hurry to find both Hermione's curse and cure that he had denied his better instincts, his deductive reasoning. There was a popping sound, like a soap bubble exploding, behind him, signaling the arrival of his accomplice. Severus motioned with his hand for Ronald to be still.

To hatch the little blighters, the Dark Lord had to fundamentally change the natural environment and simulate the Far East. The temperature and humidity increased the closer to the nesting they got, and the native vegetation suffered for it. Local trees were in distress; their leaves curdled and limbs slumped. Several bushes and vines had already succumbed. Within the confines of the nest, non-native trees flourished, watered by unseen rain.

"Has anyone explored the magic it took to manifest this elaborate eco-system?" Severus asked.

"Yeah, Hermione did at the first hatch site. She adapted it for her own use in research." Weasley shrugged. "It's not the source of our curse."

_It's not the source of our curse._ Such a declarative statement without investigation or proof, Severus thought. Ronald Weasley had neither the capacity nor the makings of a researcher, but then, Severus remembered, he spent most of his school days watching little flying balls instead of completing homework assignments. He also had a talent for sticking his spoon to his nose.

"That bears investigating. Just because one site was not Dark in nature does not mean this site is clear. The Dark Lord often changed his methodology and adapted new spellwork."

Ron's shoulders slumped. "That'll take forever," he whinged. "Do you see those marks?" He pointed to a spot near a root that could have been mistaken for another root. "That's a boundary marker. There are tons of boundary markers that are buried in a ring, and the closer we get to the nest, the more rings there are. It's a lot of fucking work to dismantle a nest site, and you don't do it until the nest is clear. This nest isn't clear."

He drew his wand and fired a hex into a tree limb; there was a snap and crackling sound. Severus frowned as a rather large, burnt and crispy snake dropped to the ground.

"Hermione likes to study them. Harry likes to talk to them. I prefer to kill them. Do you have a problem with that, Snape?" he asked.

Severus smirked. "I think we should get along famously."

According to Ronald, it took months to properly secure a nesting site. Once an area was identified, the containment wards went up. The crew, namely Hermione, went in to sweep for traps and triggers that protected the hatchlings. When the site was deemed safe, eggs were accounted for and put in stasis while search parties, chiefly Hermione, searched for hatched snakes within the confines of the wards. Once the site was snake-free, they (Hermione, again) searched an ever-wider perimeter for live snakes until the all-clear was given. Finally, the eggs were destroyed and clean-up could begin, but former hatch sites would always retain the stink of foul earth about them.

At this site, the eggs were in stasis and Hermione was searching for hatched snakes within the wards. She was working on this in between date nights and antiquing trips. Severus liked it better when she was a publishing assistant with paranoia of the press. Though at least now he understood why she was paranoid of the press. No one could know, not even a peep, neither officially nor unofficially. A secret of this size and scope could fracture society, send the wizarding world into an utter panic. Half the nutters would create snake worshipping cults, and the other half wouldn't come out from underneath their beds. Tinfoil hats for everyone.

Grudgingly, Severus asked, "How do you think its best we proceed?"

Ron scratched his chin. "You might be right about the boundary markers being cursed, but it's unlikely Hermione came into contact with them. She put the eggs in stasis recently, and there are markers inside the actual nest."

Severus nodded. "It's possible she came into contact with one there."

"We've swept for everything else and found nothing. It's worth a shot looking inside the nest." Ron looked sickened. "Of course we'd have to go down there."

"Hermione does it all the time," Severus reminded him.

They took off together, walking slowly, eyes out for snakes which had a nasty habit of dropping from high tree limbs, both of them with their wands out. Severus was ready with a spell on his lips. The air became thicker the closer they came to the nest, the atmosphere so heavy it was thick to breathe. Sweat began to form at his brow.

Severus noticed a gouge in a tree and pointed it out to Weasley. There a willing recruit had spilled blood – likely more than he had truly been willing. Ron nodded grimly; he'd seen it before and understood.

In a soundless forest, the silence played tricks on his ears. Was the crunch of leaves a sound that he made from under his foot? A movement Ronald had made? Or was there a snake lurking nearby, ready to strike? His eyes roamed the underbrush feverishly, combed tree limbs for scales and his mind prickled with activity. _Look for snakes, look for triggers, look for Dark Magic._

Severus unbuttoned another button in his shirt.

Ron looked at him dubiously. "Do you need a moment?"

"No," Severus growled.

"You know, this place can get to you if you let it," he said carefully. "I remember my first hatch. I panicked all the time. I kept freaking out that one of the eggs was going to hatch in my hands and bite me. Do you know what Hermione did?"

Severus shook his head.

"She threw an egg at me. I nearly pissed myself when I caught it." Ron shrugged. "But the stasis held, and that's when I knew I wasn't going to get bit."

"Charming."

"Look, mate, all I'm saying is I understand if you're jumpy, all right?"

Severus faced the younger wizard. "I think I should like to investigate the outer perimeter myself. I doubt you've done a thorough job of it."

Ron looked at Snape's retreating form as he turned to follow boundary markers. "So it's like that, is it?"

On the one hand, Snape was likely to bite his head off – figuratively, perhaps even literally – if he found out he was being followed. On the other hand, Hermione _would_ kill him if Severus died because Ron left him unescorted at her hatch site. Ron leaned against a tree, slowly counted to thirty, and started to follow Severus Snape.

* * *

Hermione held her quill hovering just a breath off the page. She'd lost her train of thought and the more she chased it, the more fleeting her thoughts became. Exhausting business, thoughts were; they seemed to take everything out of her.

Illegible ink scribbles wavered on the page, rippled in her line of vision reminding her of vapors off a cauldron. _Severus_ A weak smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

She'd been plotting something – a new idea that had caught her attention. Hermione pushed her lap desk away. Too tired – her head spun too fiercely to think clearly. She'd think of it tomorrow.

Hermione reached to set her quill –

the inkwell tumbled to the floor.

* * *

They must have been a mile from the sun, Severus concluded. Sweat poured freely down his brow. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and wished for the canteen of cool, sweet water Harry had carried the day before.

Notches in trees weren't laid indiscriminately; they were parceled out in degrees. By Severus' count, he'd passed three in relatively equal distance. Given the perimeter size, he suspected there were twelve sacrifices made. That many missing recruits would not go unnoticed by the wizarding public. Severus wondered if they were culled from the Muggle population. The only requirement he was aware of was a Dark Mark – which could be given to a Muggle. He'd seen it once, ostensibly as an experiment, but it made the Muggles into little more than unsuitable drooling zombies.

They didn't need brains to be victims, he conceded.

The orientation of the sacrifices was interesting to note, as well. At first he thought, like Hermione, that the nests were chosen at random locations. Hogwarts had always been a spot of interest to the Dark Lord. He'd obsessed over the school for a long time, but what if the hatch site had nothing to do with the school? Old ley lines and lunar planes intersected the land all over creating points of power. There could be method to the madness.

Severus saw another notch indicating another fallen victim and nodded to himself. There very well could be method to the madness. Uncovering the sequence could be key in uncovering more nests. He was so absorbed in thought, Severus wasn't watching where he was walking. He nearly walked right into his mother.

"Sorry, Mum," Severus quickly apologized. Dullness had washed over his brain and he should have been looking. There was no running in the house, either.

She was in her nice house dress, the one she wore when the parlor smelled of wood soap. Her thick dark hair was pulled to the side in a big plait, and if they visited the duckies, she'd allow him to make her a flower crown. Severus grinned happily.

"Oh my sweet boy," she said. "I'm so glad I've found you at last. I was so worried."

Severus wanted to run forward for a big hug, but she put her hand out stopping him.

"I need your help." She looked around, fearful of the forest. Something terribly bad was coming for them; Severus could feel it in his bones, too. "We're lost and we must get home."

"We're lost and we must get home," Severus repeated.

"Do you know how to get home, my sweet boy?" his mum asked.

Severus frowned and took a look at his surroundings. They were in a forest, he didn't remember how they had gotten to a forest, but then he remembered the wizard named Harry giving him instructions.

Severus nodded. "Yes, Mummy. I can get us home."

She smiled and bared her long pretty white teeth.

Severus turned towards the wards and raised his wand to take them down. Behind him his mother screamed. He watched her fall –

"Nooo!" Severus cried.

He turned his wand on the red haired wizard who'd killed his… his… Severus looked over his shoulder at his mother, who was on fire and definitely scaly. She was a tiny snake, too; she could have slithered into his pocket and ruled the entire wizarding world. That was definitely next-Dark-Lording ability.

"Well, that was messed up." Ron crossed his arms. "I know you Slytherins have a thing for snakes, but I never thought I'd see the day when you'd call one Mummy."

"Weasley. Shut it."

Ronald gestured to the interior where the nest laid. "Shall we?"

Severus followed, glancing once over his shoulder at the smoldering remains of the snake. He knew it was a snake. The fog had lifted from his brain, but even though he was a perfectly rational human being, he needed to verify that it was not his mother lying dead on the ground. So powerful had been the trance, he trusted it more than he trusted his own senses.

Scanning the forest with renewed purpose, Severus walked in step with Ron until they came to the nest. Here the forest was denser and navigating through the brush was a taxing affair. Thick snake goo coated tree leaves and branches where newly hatched snakes had left the clutch. Somewhere in Hermione's notes, Severus was certain there was a detailed analysis of the goo, but he wasn't interested in reading it. Cross breeding cats and Kneazles was one thing, but nature wasn't meant to be corrupted like this. Their feet sunk into the soft earth.

Severus knew that temperature and humidity was key to python brooding behavior, and it appeared to be no different for Nagini herself. Saturated in heat fit for incubation, Severus surveyed the nest where she had deposited her clutch of eggs. He thought of all the times when she'd looked particularly gravid and assumed she was well-fed. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Hermione's toolkit and hydration station were in front of the nest. They stopped for a drink and were grateful for Hermione's zealous planning skills. Her toolkit had plenty of excavation equipment, medical supplies, and gear.

The nest was little more than a pit in the ground, surrounded and buffeted by gelatinous slime. On the side of the pit, Hermione had cast the empty shells of hatched eggs in an attempt to gauge how many snakes could be slithering about the forest. They ate each other, they ate other eggs, but it was possible there were up to fourteen Dark-Lords-in-the-making sneaking about.

"Is it possible a snake cursed Hermione?" Severus asked frowning. This was a new thought that hadn't occurred to him. After the last demonstration of power, he would not underestimate them anymore.

"Dunno. I guess one could."

"Perhaps we should stop killing them until we can determine the source of Hermione's illness? We may need to research this further."

"Nah," Ronald responded. "What if we kill the curse-casting snake and his death lifts it?"

Fuck. A conundrum. What to do?

Severus thought of his mentor, Albus, and wondered what Albus would do. Albus would probably collect the snakes and put them in Hermione's vivarium. He might even give them names and knit for them.

"You're right," Severus agreed. "Kill the snakes."

Severus and Ronald exchanged nods and turned to the nest with grim resolve. There were eggs of every size in there, hundreds of them, possibly.

Ron made no move and Severus rolled his eyes. "Clearly you need more experience harvesting Potions ingredients. _This_ is nothing."

Severus winced as he knelt on the ground, his knees becoming saturated in the wet soil. He started gathering what eggs were on top and handed them to a reluctant and rather green-looking Ron Weasley. Ronald began placing the eggs, which shimmered bluish under stasis, beneath a tree. They worked together to clear the eggs from the pit. Severus dug down deeper into it to find more and more eggs. They both kept a keen look out for snakes.

* * *

Her head swam on tides of an endless stormy ocean, battered back and forth by her migraine's rolling merciless waves. Unable to gather a breath's worth of thought or moment of respite, Hermione's gaze traveled over the Infirmary's arched ceiling as teardrops formed at the corners of her eyes.

In the periphery of her vision, the Matron arrived in starched white. Hermione momentarily closed her heavy eyelids in thanks.

"Good afternoon, Hermione," she brusquely greeted. "Now that you're awake, I think it's time we have a little chat about your condition."

Unable to tilt her head, move her jaw or speak, Hermione didn't respond.

Undeterred by non-responsive patients, Poppy continued. "Let's check your vitals and have a look-see at what's going on." Her wand passed several times overhead, though Hermione didn't track the motion. "Oh no."

* * *

When the nest was finally cleared of eggs, the pit was exposed. It wasn't as deep as he expected and with the eggs gone, there wasn't nearly as much goo either.

"Now the real work begins," Severus muttered. "Are you certain Hermione worked in here?"

"Yeah mate, she had to cast stasis on all the eggs."

Severus and Ron found shovels in Hermione's toolkit and they agreed to carefully start digging out the pit. The labor was intense and slow going. Every time they hit a rock or root, it had to be carefully dug by hand to see if it was a boundary marker. Ron was beginning to have his doubts that there were markers in the nest until they got towards the bottom of it.

"Hey, I think I found something!" Ron announced.

"Another rock?" Severus wiped the sweat across his brow and looked up.

Weasley grinned. "Nah, see this." He took his grubby rag and cleared the dirt away from the exposed rock, careful not to touch it with his own hands. Beneath the grit and soil was a perfect quartz sphere.

"Back away," Severus ordered, drawing his wand.

Ron took a water break while Severus tested it for Dark Magic and curses, but he didn't have to wait long. The magic that poured from the crystal was sick. Ron had seen a similar sick magic flow from Horcruxes.

"It's hot," he confirmed. "All of them probably are."

"Is this what cursed Hermione?"

He probed again. He needed to be certain they were cursed.

Wrapped in a rag, Severus held a crystal marker up in the sunlight to see the angry darkness trapped within its center. Laughter welled up from within him. "I think so. I think this is it," Severus said, his voice caught between laughter and crying. "This is it."

In his hands he held the source of Hermione's curse. Now that Bill would have the source, Hermione could be cured. He would be able to take her home again. She would live. She would be whole. They could be together again. Severus swallowed the thickness in his throat and gently placed the cursed marker in the container Ronald had found.

Together they worked quickly to uncover all of the markers and box them for transport.

When they were finished, Ron knocked him on the shoulder and they looked back at the dug out nest.

"Not bad work, eh?"

Severus grinned. "Thank you for your help; I couldn't have done it alone. I hope you won't be too tired to play."

Ron shrugged. "My game started two hours ago, but it's no worries, mate. 'Mione's more important, you know?"

He nodded. Yes, he understood. Bone weary, elated, dehydrated, ecstatic, and thoroughly relieved, Severus understood perfectly.

Wands out and on the hunt for serpents, they headed for the entry point as fast as they could. Carrying the container, Severus whispered under his breath, "I'm coming, Hermione."

They reached the exit point and breached the wards with a loud _pop!_ Severus and Ronald traded exhausted and elated smiles. They were ready to bash on when an enormous Saint Bernard Patronus bounded for them.

"I've been calling for hours!" Poppy's alarmed voice rang out clearly from the slobbering beast. "Come to the Infirmary immediately. Hermione needs you."

* * *

_In her confinement, Granger makes do,_  
_And it's looking like gruel, take two._  
_For the trigger Snape looks,_  
_Leaving her with the books._  
_Will he find it amidst the snake goo?_

Limerick by Morethansirius


	17. Chapter 17 Prayer?

**Chapter 17 – Prayer?**

There was no thought, only the pounding beat of his boots on stone and the racing breath through his lungs. Weasley was at his side as they raced the path from the school gates to the entrance. Not even the winged boars had made comment. Severus fiercely clutched his box, the precious contents within rattling around because they'd not even stopped to affix a charm, and he prayed to nameless gods that he held her cure within his grip.

When he'd been but a babe in the womb, a batty old crone had pointed at his mum's belly and foretold that his life – would be one of unending pain and misfortune. Fitting – he'd been screwed from the start. His mum saddled him with a right and proper Romanesque wizarding name, and acknowledged his burden by naming him after Septimus Severus, a name that meant severe, but therein was also a mother's plea for mercy. It shared roots with seven, the magical number. If he was to be good and fucked by fate – at least he might have a bit of luck on his side. He'd needed all the bloody luck he could get.

Severus prayed. If there was any luck left, any bit more he could squeeze out – he needed it now.

_Let Hermione live. Please. Give me this._

After so many sins, he didn't know if anyone would take his petitions, but Hermione was goodness and light. Surely she would be spared?

His muddy boots slid on the flagstone floors of the school as he and Ronald turned towards the stairwell that would take them to the Infirmary. Ronald aimed a stunning spell at the stairs – it was worth an eight point deduction – and the stairs halted to a stop. They were able to take the steps two at a time. Were he able to hand out points, Severus would have granted an enormous windfall to Gryffindor.

They loudly slid into the emptied Infirmary and were greeted with an artificial mumbling silence. The back corner allotted for Hermione's care was obscured by privacy warding. Severus scanned the shadowed silhouettes –bodies in blurry relief circled around Hermione's curtains. He met Ron's anxious blue eyes and trotted forward.

"They're here," Bill exclaimed, as soon as they passed through the wards.

"Oh thank god." Minerva rushed forward to greet them, but Severus turned immediately to Bill Weasley and proffered the crate of cursed border markers.

"I believe this is what you're looking for," Severus said.

Bill's eyes widened momentarily and he nodded quickly. "I'll get on this right away." He turned and left the warded area. Torn, Severus watched him leave. His obligation was to stay with Hermione. His responsibility was to ensure her safety and see to it the curse was lifted. He only hoped the precious cargo was in the right hands. Poppy caught his eye and waved him over to her for a quiet chat.

A capable brewer when she had the time, Poppy was sorting several phials of Sylvius Relief on her trolley.

"So you've found it then?" she asked quietly.

Severus nodded.

"Good. That'll relieve the Grangers. They arrived just a bit ago." Poppy looked up and surveyed the abnormally silent Infirmary. Minerva had ordered all students requiring medical attention sent to Saint Mungo's to ensure the secrecy of their mission. "As far as they're concerned Hermione works for a publishing firm."

He grimaced. "If that's supposed to be her cover story, someone needs to remind Hudgepot. He nearly gave her away."

"Minnie is sorting it out now, but that's not what's really important."

"Oh?" Severus asked.

Poppy turned and held up a phial of clear turquoise potion to the light. "She's stable now and should recover from her latest attack, but the Sylvius is losing its efficacy. I'm sorry Severus; her attacks are getting stronger. I don't know if it'll work next time."

Closing his eyes momentarily, Severus answered. "Then we have to hope the curse will end soon. The potion's potency can only be fractionally increased before it will poison her." He turned and stepped around the privacy shield to be with his Hermione.

The bed linens had been recently changed, and in a fitful and restless sleep, Hermione was feverishly perspiring. Fresh bags of ice were placed around her body, and a Muggle IV drip attached intravenously into her arm. With the exclusion of Pox carefully writing her chart notes and assorted potionry, it could have passed for a Muggle hospital room.

Severus considered sitting down, but the only other seat in the room was across the bed from Bonnie Granger. She looked up from her daughter and glared venomously at him. No, he ought not to approach Hermione's mum.

A hand touched his elbow. "Severus, a word if you please." George Granger asked.

His shoulders dropped. He could deny the man nothing. Nothing. Severus nodded his assent.

George's solid gaze and steady tone deserved an equal answer and Severus pulled himself together.

"Minerva's been catching us up on things. Quite a few things, actually." George raised a meaningful eyebrow. "I wouldn't disturb Bonnie right now; she's a bit touchy if you catch my drift. I believe you're due for a good bollicking."

"I understand," Severus said stiffly.

"Hardly." He snorted. "She's been planning Hermione's wedding since she was in nappies. And now this."

Both men turned and silently looked at the medical privacy warding.

"I assume from the stink and that box you brought in, you've found it then?"

Severus closed his eyes and muttered another plea. "Yes, I believe so."

"Thank god." George's posture relaxed and he looked immeasurably better. "Then a word of advice – when Hermione's recovered; let Bonnie have her way with the wedding."

Furrowing his brow, Severus shook his head. "We aren't having a wedding." They'd been married for seven years according to records. What was the bloody point of a wedding?

"Bonnie will insist on it and it's usually best to keep her happy." George slapped Severus on the shoulder and grinned. "Welcome to the family."

The Infirmary doors flew open with an earsplitting crash. George and Severus turned immediately as Bill Weasley ran in under full steam. From behind the warding, Minerva emerged.

"Professor Weasley, you have good news, I trust." Minerva clapped her hands in anticipation.

"Not at all, I'm afraid." Clutching his side, Bill doubled over in labored breath. He shook his head. "It's no good – it's the wrong curse."

"What do you mean it's the wrong curse," Severus instantly stormed.

Wildly Bill gestured. "It's not a fit. None of the source lines match up – they're not even close."

Within a second, Severus was an inch from ripping lumps out of a Weasley, and it'd been far too long since he'd had a decent punch up.

"It's got to be," Severus roared. He grabbed Bill's jumper and twisted his fist around it to pull him closer. Terrified, Weasley tried to jerk back, but Severus held fast. His eyes rounded and grew bigger. "Do you know what kind of shit-hole I pulled those buggers out of? They're the source. Now fix my Hermione!"

At the corner of his eye, Severus could see George's readied stance, his hands curled into fists. In a fight, the Muggle would stand for him. It was a comfort.

Violently, Bill shook his head. "I can't! It doesn't work that way. You can check it yourself – even the bases are wrong."

"Boys, stop this at once," Minerva sternly admonished.

With a good shove, Severus pushed Weasley off.

"You said she'd recover." He accused. "Remember that, eh? Find the trigger and she's as good as new."

"That's not fair, Severus. I was trying to be motivational." Bill took several steps backwards and smoothed his ruffled hair. "Optimism and encouragement is always helpful."

Angrily, Severus pointed his finger at her privacy warding. "Is that what you think she needs now?"

"I didn't know she was working for my Dad!" Bill yelled. "I'm sorry, Severus," he said softer. "Under normal circumstances, she had a chance. But –" He shook his head sadly.

"So that's it, is it?"

Severus glanced over the Infirmary, the high arched walls, the neat rows of beds dressed in starched white linens. He turned and made eye-contact with George Granger, and noted his questioning expression. Severus tilted his head in a slight nod; he'd explain necessary things later. His eyes skimmed over the blurry shadowy scaffolding of Hermione's privacy enclosure and thought of his wife.

_So that's it._

She was given up as dead.

He'd been given up as dead before, too, and by more people than just a faithless curse breaker. By the fight in George's eyes, he wasn't willing to give up on his daughter so easily either.

"Alright," Severus said resolutely. "The cursed boundary markers weren't the source. We just have to start looking again."

"Can I come?" George asked. "I boxed in my prime. Mind you, my prime is a bit off, but I can still handle myself."

Severus opened his mouth to say _Yes_ and thought better of it. "Hermione needs you more."

He trudged to Hermione's bedside to find Ronald and found him telling stories to Bonnie.

"Biggest one I'd ever seen." Ron spread his arms out as far as he could reach. "The wingspan was massive. You'd think it'd mean a smooth ride, but no."

"Bumpy?" Bonnie asked with a smile.

"I'm feeling green just thinking about it," he admitted. "But Hermione was a champ, took to dragon riding like a complete natural. And I still dunno why she doesn't like brooms."

"Excuse me," Severus interrupted. Unwilling to crudely break the news, because Bill Weasley did have a point about maintaining morale, Severus said, "Ronald, we need to be off. There's something we forgot at the site."

"Alright then." He rose from his chair. They said their goodbyes to everyone as they left.

At the castle doors, Ron looked at him steadily. "They contained the wrong curse, eh?" Severus nodded. "We heard some kind of muffled disturbance."

"And?"

"And I thought it was best to start telling a funny story, Severus." Ron replied.

"Good man."

"Does this mean I can start calling you Sev?"

Startled, both of his eyebrows rose. "Don't push your luck."

Their Apparition destination was the garden shed. On the way inside, Severus kicked over the lawn gnome. Ron stopped to grab a handful of tea biscuits, reminding them both that they hadn't had a proper meal. And if Severus was honest with himself, he was bone-weary and exhausted, propelled forward only by what little adrenalin he had left. It wasn't only that they didn't have the energy to mount another expedition into the viper's pit; the sun was setting and they just didn't have the manpower.

"Let's go see your father," Severus suggested.

Down the winding miner's shaft they trudged until they found Arthur holding a curling parchment at arm's length and peering at it through a brass contraption of large multicolored spectacles. Arthur turned towards them and yelped.

"You scared me." He flipped the dials on his mechanical lenses. "I thought you were giants. Now, wouldn't that be something to see?"

He pulled the spectacles off his head and rubbed his eyes fiercely.

"So, how was it, then? Was the hunt a success? Is our girl up doing the jig again?" Arthur asked.

Severus frowned in disdain. "No. Our girl is not dancing. We've not yet located the source of her curse and your son Bill believes she will die."

"Die?" Crushed, Ron turned to him. "What do you mean _die?_ You didn't mention that before."

"It was impolite at the time." Severus raised his chin.

Ronald flapped about. "You still could have told me."

"You always knew this was a possibility," Severus said coldly.

Saying the words put finality to the thought, even though he rejected it. He would not bury his wife. He'd buried his mother. Buried Lily. Albus. And too many children and friends who died on the battlefield to count. He was not yet ready to bury Hermione. He would have to join her in her grave, because his heart would there die too.

"Yeah, but…" Ron's eyes were wide and shining as he pleaded.

Arthur cleared his throat. "This is most unfortunate, I'm very sorry, Severus. You have my condolences. Hermione will be missed. She's certainly irreplaceable to our little operation."

Severus grimaced. _She's not dead yet._ "I was wondering, you mentioned the caverns had been searched for cursed objects."

"Why yes, I looked myself," Arthur said, scratching at his ear. "I scanned everything thoroughly. I turned over every stone. Hermione is like a daughter to me."

A natural born skeptic, Severus raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I should like to look again. We cannot afford to miss anything."

"Oh, of course, if you think it would help. Anything to help Hermione, you know." He shrugged.

"Thank you. We'll start in the vivarium." Severus replied icily. "Come, Ronald."

Severus pivoted on his heel and stalked off. He found the vivarium exactly as it was before, dark, creepy and with a multitude of serpents living in various settings. At least they were safely behind magical barriers. Hermione kept her private office space in an antechamber at the far end. Severus sat down in her desk chair and tried to see the world from her perspective.

"Whatcha doing?" Ron asked.

"Trying to work smarter, not harder," Severus said distracted, his eyes skimming over shelves and opened books throughout her office.

Ronald gave his shirt a whiff and pulled a face. "I'm all for that, mate."

"Hermione spent a great deal of time down here," Severus said, opening her notebook. "Every day she worked the site, she always returned here to continue her research work and file daily notes. We have to be certain the source isn't located here."

Ron wiggled from one foot to the other. "Yes, that sounds like a good plan and I'm all for that, but…" A look of intense pain crossed his face. "You think I could get the hamper Mum made up for me? I bet Mum packed more than enough food to share. Come on, Severus, I'm starving."

Severus looked up and rubbed his hand across his eyes. His eyes felt tired and his hand was gritty. It had been a long day for them both and he was grateful Weasley was still with him. He hadn't begged off for Quidditch or his girlfriend Tina, or any other number of excuses. He'd stayed, even though they were both worn out. He could push on, black coffee had taken him through many miserable nights, but there wasn't any reason to deny the steadfast Gryffindor his sarnies.

He nodded. "Of course."

Once Ronald was gone, Severus began flipping through Hermione's project diary. "Talk to me, Hermione," he muttered. "What have you been doing?"

**Cataloguing. Taxonomy. Historical Background. Translations.**

A name caught his eye. _Xerxes._ It repeated several times over the pages. Severus pursed his lips and read passages.

_Xerxes' disposition has soured of late, since Genevieve's removal. Despite my assurances that this is only temporary and she is comfortable, he refuses food and continues to terrorize others - no solid ideas yet how he's able to communicate through the warding. I tire of his antics for attention._

The behavior she noted reminded him of a small, petulant child.

He'd seen it with his own snakes.

_Xerxes is terribly cross. I wasn't able to find plump field mice this week. He abhors the little store purchased mice – not enough fat on their bones. Apparently, they don't smell right either. Picky. Picky. Picky. Of course, he threatened to revolt. Kill me, my family, the works. Haven't I heard that one before?_

Ron raced in, gleeful at finding that Molly had dropped off a fresh dinner hamper for the brave and strong adventuring heroes.

Slipping a bookmark into his page, Severus directed his attention to the wrapped sandwich he was being proffered. As they ate, they passed around Hermione's project diary.

"He must have a huge pair," Ron remarked, reading through the passages. "Yanno, for a snake and all."

"Quite." Tapping a finger on Hermione's desk calendar he quietly noted the X marking the court date to have their marriage annulled. Another entry read,_ Must get home early_. She was trying to balance their life and her crusade. If only they could have worked together.

"If there's something to your theory that a snake could have cursed her, maybe we ought to pay this bloke a visit."

"Hmm?" Distracted, Severus looked up and absorbed Ron's suggestion. It had merit and Severus agreed.

As began to canvas the vivarium, Severus took note of Hermione's ranking system. Each snake was evaluated on a myriad of characteristics well beyond potency of venom. Magical ability, self-awareness, and human traits were all taken into account. He found Genevieve – _slightly magical and a high-level of self-awareness_ – coiled tightly beneath a dense amount of foliage and doing a decent job of blending in. In sensing his presence, she briefly raised her head before hunkering down.

"Frightened," Severus remarked. "Fascinating."

He'd passed them all when he'd taken his brief tour with Arthur, but had hardly paid attention. They were creatures marked for extermination, nothing more, Hermione's bizarre pursuit. Of course he knew in many parts of the world these gifted snakes weren't feared or hated; they were praised as symbols of strength, vitality, and rebirth. It was possible they weren't all evil incarnate. Was he judging them just as harshly as others were quick to label him?

Thinking of the encounter with his 'Mum' in the woods, the snake had been fearful and trying to escape a predator – another snake, perhaps? While he abhorred mental manipulation, it was possible that was her only form of communication. Was she the next potential Dark Lord, or just trying to evade being hunted? Hermione believed nurture was more important than nature. She believed in good and all that rot. He really hated it when he started to see the other side of the argument; it stank too much of empathy. But before he started to get all soft and bleeding-heart inside, he needed to find the evil one.

Severus stopped in front of an enclosure that contained a hissing and spitting snake that struck repeatedly at the barrier. Severus pulled the clipboard and was certain he'd found his Xerxes.

"Herman?" Severus startled. His eyebrows rose as he scanned the snake's basic outline. He glanced at the menacing serpent. "Low intelligence, below average self-awareness, no measurable magical ability, zero human characteristics, greater than average aggression, venom potency rating four."

Herman viciously struck the barrier.

"No wonder you're angry," Severus muttered. "You're about as threatening as a garden snake."

Ron trotted over. "Found him, eh?"

"No. Did you?"

Regretfully, he shook his head. "Must be in the lab then."

"Lab?" Severus quirked a questioning eyebrow. "You could have shared that bit of knowledge before."

He shrugged haphazardly. "I thought you knew."

Severus followed him through up the shaft and through irregular passageways until reaching the hollowed out quarry chamber that served as Hermione's lab. He understood immediately why it was chosen; one of the main ventilation shafts ran straight through. Hermione had built for herself a clinical microbiology laboratory, but Severus quickly spied areas that could be repurposed for Potionry.

He picked up a blood sample analyzer and turned it over. _Donated by Malfoy Industries – Innovate and Achieve!_ Severus grimaced. The blatant theft of other people's ideas was not innovation.

"Got him," Ron called out from the other side of the lab.

Several large terrariums were set up along the far wall draped with dark cloths. Ron stood in front of one reading from her clipboard.

"Blimey! Says here he's off the charts. And Hermione's put all the warning labels on him. _Maximum Danger! Do not touch. Do not remove. Do not aggravate_." Ron roughly drew his hand through his hair. "Looks like someone doesn't play well with others."

Severus grabbed the cloth draping Xerxes' terrarium and pulled it off.

The black serpent within unfurled to glare directly at them and flared his hood.

A sharp knife punctured straight through Severus' forehead, he let out a startled scream and heard Ron shriek. Intense and overwhelming, thick hotness breathed into his mind for a dizzying moment. Severus staggered forward, reaching out and grabbed the laboratory countertop to steady his shaking legs. In his periphery he could see Ronald struggle.

"I don't wish to play with others," a rasping voice inside his head replied.

The snake traveled around his enclosure and Severus could swear he could feel a hot burning pulse slithering within his head. His thoughts, memories and emotions were being uprooted at the snake's pleasure.

Occlumency barriers went up. Severus raised every wall he could, placed every boundary and limit within his mind he could. His Occlumency was a bit rusty from lack of practice, but he raised them as fast as he could react.

Already inside, Xerxes cackled.

Severus preferred Herman.

His mental wards had been breached by Albus and the Dark Lord before. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't infallible – nobody was. The trick with intruders was to keep his thoughts moving in a focused manner, but always shifting quickly enough to keep them distracted or artfully misled. In many ways, Legilimency was harder than Occlumency, and a being that could breach two minds at once was unheard of.

"Do you quite mind," he railed. "I was busy. You don't see me interrupting you blokes when you're occupied, do you? Show some manners."

A tightness constricted around his head; red swam before his vision as the pain coalesced.

"My apologies," Severus gasped.

"Sorry, man," Ronald whimpered.

The tightness lingered before releasing. Xerxes reared back. "Now, tell me of Hermione," he demanded. "Why have I not seen her? What have you done with her?"

"As if you don't know, you monster," Ronald hotly challenged, balling his fists.

Lights overhead flickered and shook as the serpent uncoiled and flared.

"Ron, stand down," Severus cautioned. "Maximum danger, remember?" Severus was far beyond any point in his life where he was subservient to any man or beast, but knew when to exercise a bit of prudence for self preservation. He took a step back and held out his arms, inviting Weasley to follow his lead.

Weasley met his eyes and nodded before following suit.

Severus cleared his throat. "Hermione has been taken ill. She's been cursed and unless we can find the source, she'll die." He watched the snake sway and taste the air with his tongue. "Do you know anything about this?"

Xerxes paused. "No. I am distressed to learn she's not well." He struck out sharply at Ron. "And I would not curse her! Hermione is a kindred spirit; she makes my solitary confinement bearable."

"Is it possible another snake could curse her?" Severus asked.

Xerxes nodded. "Yes, it is possible. I shall rattle the cages. If I find anything, I'll inform the bumbling twit upstairs."

"Thank you." Severus bowed slightly. "Come, Ronald."

"But, Severus –"

He turned and exited, expecting Weasley to follow, which he did moments later, grumbling beneath his breath.

"That could have been our closest lead," Ron ranted. "We could have taken him, he's just a snake."

Severus turned, and cornered the younger wizard. "Correct, he's our closest lead to finding who may have cursed Hermione. But he's a very powerful wizard, Ronald. Stop letting your eyes deceive you. You sensed his ability."

Ron nodded.

In his head, it had been tangible. In the air it lingered. Xerxes had an undeniable aurora radiating magical presence. And Severus doubted that his terrarium did very much to keep him contained. Therefore, it was likely he remained in the quarry because he wished to remain there.

"He's fond of Hermione. He said as much."

"And you believe him?" Ronald scoffed.

Severus nodded. "He offered to help us. He can reach snakes we cannot. I expect he'll keep his word, but if he doesn't…" Severus shrugged. "What's another dead snake?"

Placated, Ron agreed.

It wasn't long after that they packed it in for the night. Dragging his bones, Severus returned to Hogwarts.

Visiting hours were over, and Poppy had sent the Grangers home for the evening. For that he was eternally grateful. Hermione slept peacefully behind her privacy warding, momentarily untroubled by the curse. Unwilling to disturb her, Severus sat down and prepared to keep guard over her sleeping form.

Her eyebrows furrowed, restlessly she rolled over towards him, and eyes fluttering. Hermione awoke. She smiled softly and Severus couldn't help but return it.

"Hi," she whispered through parched lips.

"Hi yourself."

Her hand snuck out from beneath bed sheets, reaching out plaintively. Severus met it, twining fingers together, sending his reassurance through touch:

_I'm here._

_I love you._

_I'm not leaving._

"We made progress today," Severus said, confidently. "We didn't find it, but we will."

Hermione's face contorted.

"Ronald and I worked your hatch site, your office and your lab. We met Xerxes who said –"

"Shhh," Hermione interrupted. She squeezed his hand briefly. "It doesn't matter."

Severus startled, then nodded. "If you don't want to talk about it, I understand. We can change the subject."

The tired look she gave him was harassed and pitying.

"Please stop, please stop leaving me," she pleaded. "Every day you go away and leave me here, and I need you."

"But I'm trying to find your cure. You know that."

Hermione looked away.

Silence permeated the low lit Infirmary for a drawn out moment.

"You've given up," Severus quietly affirmed.

She turned to him, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm trying to enjoy the time I have left. I need you here to do that. Don't you understand, Severus? I need you."

Throat constricted, he asked, "What would you have me do, Hermione?"

His eyes searched for understanding. Surely she knew the importance of finding her cure. Hermione was a fighter. She was his brave little Gryffindor lioness. She had stood toe-to-toe against the biggest bullies of the wizarding world and demanded to be treated as an equal by the pillars of pureblood supremacy. To witness the fight give out in her eyes was devastating. The curse was taking her away too quickly.

"There won't be a cure, Severus." Closing her eyes with a heavy sigh, fatigue spread across her features. She was weary of the fight, bone aching and done in. Severus reached out and brushed a hand lightly over her cheek.

Hermione worried her lower lip. "Our marriage just wasn't fated to be. I'm sorry, Severus. At least you'll have your freedom, now."

"No," he whispered fiercely, gripping her hand. "No." Choking tears, Severus fell forward, kneeling at Hermione's bed. "Don't say that. I don't care about freedom. I could never have another, Hermione. I love you."

"Oh, Severus." She smiled weakly. "I love you, too."

She sighed heavily and placed her hand atop his head. "You'll stay with me then?"

"Yes," he cried. "I won't leave you."

Her fingers slid smoothly through his long dark hair in a warm caress. "Thank you."

Severus remained throughout the evening, sleeping at odd angles to drape a protective arm over her. If she awoke during the night, he wanted her to be assured of his continuing presence. Hermione did not awaken.

* * *

_There's no improvement, despite Poppy's care._  
_Hermione just wants Severus there._  
_They still search for a cure,_  
_but can Granger endure?_  
_Will Severus be granted his prayer?_

Limerick by Morethansirius


	18. Chapter 18 Will

**Chapter 18 – Will**

Her hand was fragile, a dainty collection of bones that weakly clung to his hand as she fitfully slept. Severus' gaze was riveted to where their hands met; she held on to him as if he was her tether to life. Every tender word, plea for compassion, and will to fight, he imagined traveling from his hand and through her damaged body. _live. live. live. live._

She slept so soundly, her chest barely rising and falling in the rhythm of breath, he worried it was possible she'd slipped into a coma, but then as he started to withdraw his hand, she grasped it more firmly. A few minutes later she stirred, and her thin eyelids sleepily fluttered open.

"Good morning," he whispered, smiling at her.

"Good morning," she faintly returned.

Hermione looked around the room drowsily and placed the back of her hand across her forehead.

"How are you feeling?" Severus asked.

"Not so good."

Severus patiently waited for her to say more, hoping just to hear a better answer, but that was everything Hermione had to say. Everything she could say. She had only just woken up and appeared to be wiped out. He nodded in understanding. A part of him wished he had done more to make positive memories while they had been together, to photograph and record their days and her voice while it was strong and full of liveliness. To keep a part of her alive with him forever so he wouldn't be so desolate and alone in the months and years to come.

Pox quietly entered and attended to her, changing linens with the simple efficiency of house-elf magic. He said nothing, but wrinkled up his nose and shook his head upon leaving.

Poppy arrived soon after, the bustle of her white starched linen dress heralding her arrival. "The Grangers are at breakfast," she said, competently hooking up Hermione's IV drip. The time for spoon-feeding gruel was past. "Minerva will try to keep them occupied for a bit longer to give you some time together."

"Thank you," Severus choked.

He'd seen death, been a party to it. Knew it first hand and had experienced it intimately. And so he knew. Life was more than the rise and fall of breath within a chest. The presence of vitality was more than the flush of skin. Death claimed souls. Looking upon Hermione, he could see the pallor of her soul desperately clinging to her body. Her time was not numbered in the days, but in the hours.

Poppy expected him to say goodbye.

How? How could he even begin – what would he say?

_I'm sorry. I failed you. Forgive me._ His heart crumpled. He couldn't say anything; he could only honor her wish. He would not leave her. As much as it would break him to stand silent witness to her death, he would hold her hand and comfort her as best he could. Severus reached out and lovingly brushed her hair back from her face, caressing her ashen cheeks. She leaned into his hand and sighed.

Severus looked around for something to do, to reassure her of his presence and provide her with comfort. Given how many books littered the school and were regularly stuffed in Hermione's satchel, it was pitiful there wasn't a single book at her bedside.

"I wish there was a book I could read to read," he muttered.

"Don't be." Hermione turned toward him and smiled drily, her chapped lips cracking. "Minerva tried to bring a book to me yesterday. Supposed to be a wizarding classic, but…" she shook her head. "No books right now. I can't concentrate."

"Pox," Severus called out. The Infirmary elf arrived at a discrete distance. "I should like a bottle of massage oil." He quickly returned and proffered the bottle.

At the bottom of her bed, he pulled up a monstrous amount of tucked-in bed sheets to reveal her naked legs.

"I think you'll enjoy this, Hermione," he said. "Not only does stress accumulate in the soles, but releasing the pressure points can have greater benefits throughout your body."

She smiled faintly. "Thank you."

Warming the oil in his palms first, Severus worked his fingers over and along the sensitive pathways of her feet, flexing and releasing energy and pressure trapped within. Every time Hermione mewled, he smiled. He was gently rolling her toes when the Grangers walked in.

"Oh!" Bonnie exclaimed.

Severus looked over his shoulder expecting a healthy dose of motherly censure. "Reflexology," he muttered.

"Why, yes. Finally, something I understand. Can I help?" She stepped forward and took up position next to him and helped him with Hermione's other foot. Bonnie nudged his shoulder. "This is a brilliant idea. Perhaps I can get my friend who's a shaman to do a smudging prayer service."

Instead of explaining to her why it wouldn't work, or the technical intricacies of modern curse work, Severus shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see why not."

Bonnie Granger's smile was beatific, but Severus caught George rolling his eyes.

Ron stopped by during the massage, and was disheartened to learn he was on his own for the day. He glanced in momentarily at Hermione, and upon seeing her condition he became broken and bereft; he didn't want to leave and Severus had to force him to go. Hermione was not yet lost and the mission to find her cure was more important. Weasley clung fiercely to the thin shreds of hope that remained and summoned his bravery. Severus gave him very strict orders to be respectful to all of the snakes and to follow all of Hermione's vivarium instructions. He hoped Xerxes had good news for them, but was prepared for disappointment.

And so they sat her vigil, as a family, circled around Hermione's bed: mother, father, and husband. Severus, clasping one of her hands, kept a firm watch on her labored breathing as she slipped in and out of consciousness. His eyes roamed the area behind their privacy curtain, as he breathed in the cold, antiseptic air.

He'd run so hard, fought so long, pushed every muscle, and faith had driven him forward. From within, he shuddered; he thought he could save her. His faith had been misplaced – Hermione was lost. Life was frail and fragile, and her time had come. Everything beautiful was taken away from him. Everything good and pure was ruined by his hand. Agony, like a spear, pierced straight through him.

All of their best ideas were worthless. Everything they had tried, had failed.

He had failed. He'd promised to save her, and he could not.

At some point later in the day, Minerva appeared to usher in a guest; her sad eyes held the same look of apology he'd ever seen at every funeral.

"The solicitor has arrived." Her tone was polite and reserved, but Severus had many years of practice reading her body language and noted a distinct mark of disapproval. She nodded kindly to him before turning away.

Severus wasn't familiar with the solicitor and cared little for him; his focus was solely on Hermione. Thankfully, the wizard was tactful enough to be quiet about his business. He verified Hermione's mental state, and she was fortunately lucid enough to respond appropriately. Severus tried not to pay much attention to the reading of her will.

He found a spot on the wall and concentrated upon it as the solicitor began to read off the distribution of her humble estate. To her parents, who she loved very much, she left certain mementos, trinkets and cherished books. To Harry and Ron, who she always adored, she left her school trunks and homework planners. To Severus, her beloved husband, she left her Gringotts account, and requested he take care of Crookshanks. The spot on the wall wavered as his tears flowed.

Hermione weakly lifted her hand to sign. The solicitor leaned forward in earnest. The quill barely scratched the parchment as she produced a loopy H. It was enough. Bathed in golden light, the magical contract shone brightly for a dazzling moment as Hermione dropped the quill, exhausted from the effort. It spun for a moment before rolling itself up and disappeared; with that done, the solicitor nodded politely to the family and quietly shuffled out.

Wailing softly, Bonnie collapsed into George's arms.

Severus dropped his head into his hands.

A bright light permeated his eyes and he closed them tighter, blotting out all stimulation. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. To beat his chest with a rock and bleed himself dry, for there was nothing left. So absorbed with his own grief, he did not realize his own name was being yelled until George shook him.

"What is that?" George roughly demanded, jabbing a finger. "What's happening to my little girl?"

Severus gaped and shielded his eyes.

The light that suffused the room came from within Hermione. She was burning brightly from within.

"I don't know," Severus said dumbfounded. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, fix it." George insisted.

Hermione flickered for an instant, and with a breath, the light inside her went out.

Bonnie shrieked. "Is she dead?"

Hermione's chest rose and fell with breath. Instantly, Severus lurched forward to feel her pulse with his fingers and shook his head. Her coloring was imperfect, her pulse rapid, but it was evident she was no longer narrowly awaiting death.

"She's alive," Severus breathed, as his heart beat a wild tattoo.

In a frantic flash, Severus was running through the Infirmary bellowing for Poppy. She came, running with her wand out, expecting to pull a sheet over Hermione, but the Matron found her, Hermione was weakly sitting up in bed on her own.

"She's alive," Bonnie sniffled and smiled through tears. "My baby's alive."

Immediately Poppy began to cast diagnostics, perplexed by the results she witnessed.

"Is she cured?" George asked, his eyes scanning over the runes along with Severus, trying to make sense of the sigils as if they could try and fathom out their cryptic message.

"No," Poppy frowned and furrowed her brow, troubling over the curse sigil. It was still there although less sickly than it had been. She showed it to Severus. "Something has fundamentally changed within the curse. It's still there, but it's been somewhat placated."

"Do you think Ronald found something?" Bonnie asked warily.

Severus gaped like a fish for several moments, his mouth opening and closing in startled bewilderment. "I… I... I've no idea." He looked up at Hermione, who was taking several deep breaths and holding her head to the side as if she had a tremendous headache, but otherwise was little worse for the wear. He beseeched her with his eyes. "Hermione, I know I promised I'd stay by your side and wouldn't leave you, but I need to get help. This is…"

Just then, she laughed. A happy giggle burst from Hermione's lips and Severus' heart soared just from the joy of hearing it. "Yes," she laughed again. "Of course you can go get help." Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away as she giggled.

His eyes burned with intensity as he leaned forward. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Hermione. I promise."

She smiled, her eyes crinkling up in delight. "I know you will."

Turning away, Severus fled, using all the power he possessed in his long legs to carry him across the school, down flights of stairs and along landings. Without ceremony he threw open the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom door startling at least a dozen fourth years and their baffled teacher who turned and raised his wand to defend them.

"Hermione," Severus gasped, ignoring the shocked looks from the children who craned their necks to watch. "She needs you at once."

A sad look crept over his face and Professor Weasley nodded gravely. "I was expecting this."

"No you twit," Severus hoarsely roared, trying to catch his breath. "The sigil has morphed."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really? How remarkable." His students began whispering furiously amongst themselves. The scowl Professor Weasley turned on the class was worthy of even Severus' approval. "Class dismissed."

They quickly walked in a more dignified manner the length of the school together. The Headmistress might turn a blind eye to one ex-Professor dashing madly through the halls, given the good news, but two full grown adult wizards running in the school like miscreants, and she'd string them up by their ears, good news or no. Madam Pomfrey had the foresight to leave Hermione's curse sigil hanging above her for Professor Weasley's inspection. As it slowly rotated above her head, shining with its own light, it was evident that it had changed a great deal. The original foundation was intact, but the design had lost much of its intricacy. The coloring had changed as well, transitioning from a necrotic pus color to a darkened bruise.

"Oh, my." Bill gaped at it for a moment before snatching up Hermione's patient files.

"How do you feel?" Severus asked lifting an eyebrow as he sat down next to her and reached out for her hand, seeking reassurance through touch, lest his eyes deceive him.

Hermione curled in bed, turning towards him conspiratorially. Her lips were still dry and cracking, and he was not fond of her coloring, but the merriment that danced within her eyes made his heart hope. Hope was a dangerous thing; it made bigger fools out of greater men than he, and yet he wanted to believe she would be well.

"I hurt all over," she said honestly. "But I've felt worse. Being Crucio'd at wand-point was worse. Fighting the final battle was worse. Surviving the hangover from Ginny's hen party was worse. I'll live." Her eyes flicked to Professor Weasley who perused her medical log with a keen eye, occasionally looking up and giving them speculative glances. "At least I think so."

Severus pointed to her parents hovering near the tall windows looking for cellular reception.

"Are you going to tell them or shall I?"

Hermione glanced over at them with a tender expression. "I don't have it in my heart, and they'll figure it out soon enough." The Grangers gave up phone reception as a bad job and Hermione managed to keep her smile to herself.

Bill tuned and furrowed his brow, her medical record dangling from his fingertips as if he did not believe what he was seeing.

"Oh, out with it, man," Severus finally demanded. "Can't you see we're all in suspense?"

"Yes, well, I think perhaps I ought to apologize." Bill shook his hand through his hair in the same nervous expression Hermione recognized from Ron every time he copped to something fuckwitted. "It appears I was a bit mistaken about all this."

Severus lurched forward and Hermione gripped his hand tightly bracing him back. She warned him with a stiff glare and he recognized _that_ look. In a single glance, Severus could read, '_you will behave; I want to hear everything he has to say._' It was not far off from the _'stuff it'_ look.

"What do you mean you were mistaken? I think I'm owed an explanation here." Bonnie's voice rose up in a sharp motherly reprimand. Severus smirked at Hermione; clearly her mother had not received the look. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"Ah well, it's nothing so serious now. No real harm done." Bill laughed nervously, quailing under Bonnie's gaze. "Look, you have to understand when I advised you to find a cursed object, we were playing the numbers game. Eighty percent of all curses come from cursed objects. Eighty percent! But now, given the radical improvement in the curse sigil, I'd say the curse source is a contractual. Eleven percent of curses can come from contracts."

Severus' face slackened as his eyes widened. Hermione pinned him with a similar stare. She tilted her head just a bit. They had to know. They had to be certain. After all, hope was such a frail thing.

He coughed to clear his throat, feeling the words slowly form upon his lips. "And the other sources of curses, what are they?"

Bill easily shifted weight from one foot to the next, as if changing topics and smoothly lecturing a class. "Another eight percent is attributable to family curses, which is highly unlikely given Hermione's blood status. A further five percent comes from magical beasts, and I think that's a possibility you've been exploring. Three percent is just poor sod's luck and we've no idea what causes it. And I then there's this funny one percent that requires a visit from the Unspeakables, but no word on what causes it, either."

"That does not total up to one hundred percent," Bonnie pointed out, leaning forward.

"Ah! Excellent observation! Our percentages come from the expert opinions of our most renowned masters." Bill Weasley gave her his most charming smile. "Magical flux. Sometimes it's a little bit over here, then a little bit over there." He wiggled his fingers in a manner that worked wonders on first through third years. "Magic is always in motion."

"Have you tried mathematics, then?" Bonnie inquired drily. "Statistics, perhaps? It is damned useful for probability equations."

Hermione turned and giggled into her pillow. She imagined a stiff parental conversation about her schooling would take place within the near future, but before then…

"Contractual sounds the most likely," Hermione said assertively.

The others turned and looked at her, and Hermione enjoyed their looks of shock. There was something fantastically wonderful about participating in the conversation about her own health. Serious discussions by family members and good friends about her wants and needs had been bandied about, but she'd not been able to contribute to them in a meaningful way, which became most tedious after awhile. Hermione determined there was nothing worse than having people talk over her as if she wasn't actually present.

"So, I suppose the question now is: have you dealt with a contract recently?" Bill asked.

Hermione and Severus traded alarmed glances. "Yes," she answered. "Quite a bunch, actually. There was his Azkaban release; I think I signed two different documents…"

"Don't forget my Gringotts' account paperwork," Severus reminded her.

Hermione nodded vigorously. "Then we handled our marriage paperwork, which was a betrothal and a marriage certificate; they're both contracts. You know, I don't think I really read either of them. I was so angry that day."

Weasley's eyebrows shot up. "Sounds like you're in for a Decoding Room search."

"Oh hell," Hermione said, her shoulders slumping. She turned to Severus and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "As much as thoroughly I enjoy research," she said in a voice that sounded quite the opposite, "I think you can handle this one without me. After all, I couldn't possibly leave this bed, now could I?"

Severus' jaw dropped.

_Favors_. He needed lots of favors, and had not a single one to call in.

Harry. Severus grinned. The boy-wonder could be quite useful.

"Don't worry, love," Severus murmured in a whisper as he bent over and kissed her forehead. "I think I have just the right solution."

"Good. You had better. Because I think I'm rather overdue for some canoodling," she whispered back.

Jumping up with renewed energy, Severus took his leave of the family and Floo'd to his destination. The Auror station was nearly vacant.

"Potter's office?" Severus asked the desk clerk. He was pointed in several directions before he found the right room.

Severus took the room by force. Harry dropped a raspberry tart. The file underneath looked like a crime scene.

"Hermione needs your assistance, Harry."

"How is she?" he asked worriedly while mopping up raspberry and doing a better job of smearing it across the page.

"No longer a hair's breadth from death, she's actually sitting up and talking. We think we understand the curse a bit more, but it means I need help to search key Ministry files and the Decoding Room and will need to borrow your manpower resources to do it."

Harry whistled. "I'd like to help you, but I can't. I don't have a department right now; all my people are out on assignment. We have renegade Death Eaters lighting up Morsmordre and a missing reporter. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Sourly, Severus recalled exactly how Harry negotiated.

_Harry kicked over the tin pail and sat on it just outside the bars of his cell. He was close enough that Severus could inhale the artificial scent of laundry detergent and aftershave, but far enough away that he wasn't within grabbing reach – Harry had made that mistake the first time he came around. _

"_You died; I saw you die."_

"_You died, too," he bit back. "Many people saw you die, Potter. Under the right circumstances, death can be just as temporary as life."_

"_So? What happened? Did you end up in Kings Crossings?"_

"_No." Severus frowned. "What are you on about? I - never mind." _

_Harry opened his lunch sack and drew out a ripe red apple, slowly polishing it against his denims_.

"Right. I may be able to enlighten you on how a Morsmordre could be cast in multiple locations without a Death Eater present, but I would provide that information as a consulting confidential informant. It's not a confession."

"And Romilda? I'm aware I made a copy of her file the same morning you visited my house. It's recorded in the department's log book."

"Shit." Severus swore.

"You'd better find her," Harry warned. "Alive."

"Hermione needs your help, Harry," Severus begged. "She's desperately ill."

"You just told me she was doing much better. And I don't have the manpower to reallocate to a Decoding Room search. The files in that room haven't been decoded – I think. Actually, I'm not sure if they're in any particular order." Harry stared at him in an expression that was completely his father's. "Give me Vane and I'll give you all the help you need for Hermione."

Severus nodded. He only hoped it would be enough. He had no other options.

"No questions asked?" Severus mumbled, as they walked to the Auror Apparation point.

"Depends," Harry grunted. "Let's hope she's alive."

Severus reactivated the illegal Portkey's twin. He could hear Hermione's mocking voice in his head, an _illegal_ Portkey. She made mention of him trying to get back into Azkaban an awful lot. Though with Harry Potter next to his side, ready at a moment's notice to cart him off, it did seem like well-deserved chiding.

They arrived in Lillooet near the rail station in a back alleyway.

Severus removed his outer robes and shrunk them. The locals might think of him a religious man, given his frock coat, but it was sometimes easier than Transfiguration. Harry removed his professional robes to reveal a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and denims. Severus sighed.

Harry grinned. "But I blend in."

Area sweeps for Vane's magical signature within Lillooet fizzled out. Harry's good mood became darker and darker. Even Severus became more worried. And as it looked less likely they'd find Romilda Vane alive, the more they began to bicker.

"I didn't kill her, if that's what you're thinking," Severus said.

"No, you just ditched her out in the middle of nowhere."

"She had a return Portkey." Severus tugged on his hair. "She was supposed to be back already."

Lillooet was a bust. When the rail bus chugged into the station, Severus had the idea to return to Seton Portage.

"Maybe she went back there."

"Maybe?" Harry said unconvinced.

Severus side-along Apparated them to Seton Portage where they started their sweeps again.

Harry got a _hit_.

It was faint, but it was there. Severus breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive. He closed his eyes and thanked god.

Together they searched in earnest for the calling echo of magic that was Romilda Vane's signature. Eventually it led them to a rather drab suburban neighborhood, as it got stronger, they followed it down a flight of stairs to a basement apartment.

Severus and Harry traded shrugs.

Harry knocked.

_"Babe, that's the pizza." _

"_Already? We just called them."_

"_Yeah. Can you get it?"_

There was a pause and a scuffle inside the door. Severus waited in anticipation.

Romilda Vane opened the door, clad in a faded Guns and Roses t-shirt and socks. She blinked at the sun.

"It's not the pizza guy, Baby," she called back inside.

Harry shuffled from one foot to the other. "Miss Romilda Vane. I'm Chief Inspector Auror Harry Potter – "

"Yeah, I know who you are, Harry."

He cleared his throat. "I'm here to verify your whereabouts."

"My whereabouts? My whereabouts _are_ here." Romilda pouted and crossed her arms underneath her breasts; her shirt rode up, exposing her panties.

"You're listed as Missing." Harry swallowed. "Ma'am."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not Missing. In fact, I'm not missing anything – not the insane deadlines or the petty backstabbing, the filthy sexual harassment or the old boys club. And you can tell them I quit. Better yet, tell them, _up yours!_"

"Well, I should think that's clear enough for your report, Auror Potter," Severus said stiffly.

Romilda eyed him keenly, as if she'd just noticed him standing there and he was of peculiar interest to her, but then she shook her head of it as if the thought just slipped away.

"Thank you for your time, ma'am," Harry replied.

Romilda shut the door on them, leaving Severus and Harry standing out on the stoop.

"Is that the end of it, then?" Severus asked.

Harry nodded. "I suppose so. Not much more to do. I'll write the statement up. Someone might ask why she came out here, but I guess there are more perplexing questions to answer."

Severus understood very well. "Such as, why Guns and Roses? Vane showed so much promise."

"I don't think I'll ever understand you, Snape."

"Do I get my Decoding Room search?"

"Yeah," Harry grumbled, trudging back to their Apparition point.

That was all Severus cared about.

* * *

_Such an end is the bitterest pill.  
Her hand shakes as she picks up the quill.  
Can nothing be done?  
Seems the curse has won,  
As Hermione signs her last will._

Limerick by Morethansirius


	19. Chapter 19 Snakes

**Chapter 19 – Snakes**

Instead of only holding her book, pretending to read, Hermione could see the letters and make out the words on the page. That was when she decided _The Secret of Pussyhollow_, a story about playful kittens who got lost, wasn't nearly as interesting as Minerva thought it was. Hermione dropped the book in her lap and stretched. She'd napped. Her mum had insisted she nap. And the last time she could remember being tucked into bed by her father, she still wore her retainer.

She sat through two and a half hours of chatting with her parents before she heavily hinted there might be a baby unicorn in one of the castle padlocks, and helped arrange a tour. They didn't want to go, but she pled with them to stretch their legs and relax. Her parents hadn't left her side since the knock had come on their door, but Hermione needed a moment to breathe from the suffocation of being adored.

The unnamed curse was still attached to her body and feeding upon her life energy. Hermione looked over her head where the matron left it suspended in the air, along with the register of her magical vitals. The readings told the story of what she could feel in her bones. She was better. Bill had left her bedside after giving her a firm warning though: her reprieve was only temporary. As before, the curse would build and gather like a snowball hurdling down a mountainside if they didn't find out what was causing it and release her from it forever. Hermione's eyes roamed blearily over the high arched Infirmary ceiling; they traversed the crisp linen privacy barrier and landed on her bed. She'd barely taken a step since the night she'd had her fall. The thought of spending her good days laid up in Hogwarts Infirmary held little appeal. The end was coming and the curse would try to kill her again. Hermione couldn't lay and wait for it to claim her.

She heard a muffled noise from outside the privacy warding just before Ron struggled in looking worn out and miserable. The moment he saw her sitting up in bed, he perked. Hermione wrinkled her nose as he approached; he smelled worse than a steaming fresh pile of Hagrid's rock cakes.

"Honestly Ron, how is it a snake manages to defecate on you every single time?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno." Ron shrugged, eyeing the mess on his shirt with resignation. "You look better."

"I'm nearly cured. See there." Hermione pointed up at the slightly bruised curse sigil. "It's morphed. We're no longer looking for a cursed object. We think there's some sort of clause hidden within a contract somewhere."

Ron choked and he fumbled to articulate his frustration. "You mean… I was…" His shoulders slumped. "And nobody thought to tell me? _Argh!_" He scrubbed roughly at his face before asking, "What do you need me to do, 'Mione?"

She smiled indulgently at her good friend. They truly weren't meant for each other, but she was happy to have him. "Nothing. I'm sure there will be an opportunity for you to help with the research later, but you could use a nap right now."

From the grateful expression on his face, she could tell he was ready to turn in. Hermione pulled back the covers of her cot and swung her feet over the edge, gingerly she placed one foot after the other on the cold floor. "Here, use my bed. I think I'm going to get up for a walk."

"You can do that?" he asked in a concerned voice.

"Yep," Hermione affirmed, gathering her starched hospital gown around her as she tested her legs and stretched her knees. They wobbled and protested, feeling frail and unsteady. Hermione continued to move, gritting her teeth through her weakness. "I feel better than I have in days."

Ron needed no further prompting. He fell on top of her hospital bed and passed out. Madam Pomfrey's medical glyphs wavered for a moment before resetting themselves to Ronald's vitals. Hermione snatched up her wand from her bedside and peeked around her privacy curtain looking to make her daring escape. If her future hung on the ability to do research, she was the best witch for the job.

In the Visiting Professor's Guest Bedroom, the latch slid easy under her touch. _Most wards permit family members entry,_ she remembered him telling her. And he'd never modified his against her. She smiled. Hermione found an extra change of Severus' robes and a dragon's-hoard worth of curse-breaking books which for some reason made her incredibly happy. From his wardrobe, Hermione slowly took a set of his woolen robes down, sneaking a lungful of minty aftershave and sandalwood before charming them to fit. They looked very different on her, in a way she'd never pictured herself. The dark circles under her eyes and limp hair certainly aged her, but after getting cursed within an inch of life, nobody looked camera fresh.

"I can do this," she muttered twirling in front of a mirror. "I will do this."

Without apology or a backwards glance, Hermione exited Hogwarts. In the large castle, nobody noticed her walk out. It was probably bad form, she reflected, skipping out on her obligations as a medical patient: to lie in bed all day and eat gruel, looking wan and fragile, but Hermione had enough of that to last a lifetime. And really, she felt she was quite overdue for some canoodling.

"Woo-hooo, baby!" Lewis called after her at the gates. "Soooie."

"Put an apple in it, boys," she said, flicking her wand over her shoulder and stinging the boars.

Without wasting time, Hermione Apparated to her flat. Within moments she was enthusiastically greeted by two cats purring like buzz saws. Their loud, insistent voices gave her a report of their activities. Hermione bent down and tried to cuddle them both as they eagerly clamored to get into her arms.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, tears misting in her eyes. "I missed you, too. So very much."

With kneading toes and rumbling purrs, they assured her that they had, indeed, missed her. Hermione lavished attention upon them, stroking fur and scratching chins until they were satisfied enough to walk away. Talking loudly, they led her to their nearly empty food bowls.

"Ah-ha," Hermione exclaimed. "Poor babies. Left to fend for yourselves." She rinsed out their dishes and put down fresh food and water. "Better?" Instead of answering, they hungrily lit into the food and Hermione smiled down at them.

"Well, that's settled." Her eyes shifted over her small flat. Nothing was egregiously out of place, but she noticed that some items had shifted and had been moved. Severus had searched in here. Nodding to herself, Hermione made her way into her bedroom. At her closet, she pulled out her favorite light blue robes for visiting the Ministry, and a pair of comfortable shoes. Then she noticed the outline of her niche. So, he'd found her Notice-Me-Not spell and looked inside the niche? Hermione sighed; there were worse things in life than having her husband discover her secrets behind her back. She was about to lay her robes out on her bedspread when she found her gifts and yelped. A dead pigeon and a dead lizard were tucked near her pillow. The cats sat at the end of her bed, preening.

"Thank you, Crooksy. Thank you, Ushanka. Are those my get well gifts?" With butting heads and rumbling purrs they lavished affection upon their mistress. "That was very sweet of you to think of me," she said softly, combing her fingers through their thick, silken fur. "Don't worry, I'll be just fine. And when I find whoever cursed me, I'm going to break my wand off in their arse."

Crookshank's tail shot straight up. She kissed the top of his head fondly.

"Let me just put these someplace safe," Hermione muttered as she Vanished her gifts.

After assuring her guardian part-Kneazles of her presence and love, Hermione headed to her bathroom. As much as she appreciated receiving the Infirmary cleaning spells, there was no substitute for a good, hot shower. When she stepped out and wiped the foggy mirror down, she grinned at her reflection. Ron might have found the wickedly determined gleam in her eyes scary, but she was beyond caring. Someone had played merry hob with her life for far too long and she was the best witch to put an end to it.

The cats scurried under the bed as Hermione prepared herself for battle. Dressing with care, she secured Bellatrix's wand in an undetectable hip holster. She had resolved long ago, if she ever needed to hex again, it ought to be with an untraceable wand – and she certainly didn't want to ruin the good character of her own vinewood wand with nasty spells. As she surveyed her appearance in a mirror, Hermione sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to blows. She was a bit out of practice and not as quick on the draw as she used to be.

In her living room she pinched a healthy dose of Floo Powder and clearly enunciated _The Ministry of Magic_ as she stepped through her fireplace. At the entrance point, Hermione dutifully handed over her vinewood wand for inspection and tagging. She even cheerfully smiled at the clerk.

The Records Division was located in the lowest sub-basement of the Ministry. To get to the Decoding Room, one needed to take a left turn and continue walking until _nearly_ lost. If you found you were impossibly lost, you'd simply gone too far.

The purpose of the Decoding Room, in its most basic element, was as an archive. It helped people to understand contracts, clauses, and amendments. It was particularly useful following the Parchment Reduction Act, which saved many a cramped scribe's fingers from writing and copying full pages, just by referencing numeric codes already filed within the Decoding Room. Thus, many wizarding contracts were rather short and to the point, with an enormous addendum of references. And those who signed without fully reading their contracts were often. . .

"I'm totally screwed," Hermione huffed.

The door to the Decoding Room was sealed shut. A large sign reading **CLOSED** hung upon it. Hermione pouted, just before removing the concealed wand from her hip sling. Spellfire danced around the edges of the door, trying to permeate the wards placed upon it, as Hermione concentrated on removing the minor hindrance to her objective. Just before she was successful in removing the wards, they slipped free of their own accord, and a loud metal clicking sound resounded within the echoing walls. Hermione quickly stowed her wand and attempted to feign an innocent expression.

The solid door pushed open, revealing a tall, slender woman dressed in black, with her white hair pulled up in a bun so tight that her face looked pinched and hawkish.

"Madam Pince?" Hermione startled.

"Yes," she replied in a reproving tone. Her cold eyes surveyed Hermione with little interest.

"I had no idea you'd be here. Oh, thank god." Hermione attempted to shuffle inside the door. "I need your help so desperately."

Her hand shot out, grasping Hermione's shoulder with unexpected force. "You mistake me for my sister, child. We have never met. The Decoding Room is closed today. Run along."

"But I have to get in there. I have urgent business, a matter of life and death. Honest!" Madam Pince appeared entirely indifferent to her impassioned plea. Hermione bit her lip and flailed as she wracked her brain, thinking of ways to gain entrance, short of unlawfully stunning an elderly witch. "Have you never heard of me?" she asked. "I'm Hermione Granger. I was one of Irma Pince's favorite students. I always stayed behind in the library to help sort and shelve books."

There was a small flicker of recognition in her eyes, and Hermione took hope.

"I'm sorry, child. We are hosting a very special private party today and possibly for the rest of the week. Nobody except those approved on the list are to go in."

"What party?" Hermione asked.

Madam Pince's lip curdled up in disdain. "Harry Potter."

"Oh! That's for me! I'm supposed to be in the party." Hermione jumped up and kissed Madam Pince on the cheek before hustling inside the door. "Thank you!" she called over her shoulder.

The moment Hermione stepped into the archive, the temperature dropped to a dry chill that clutched around her chest and squeezed the warmth from her lungs, and filled her with a sense of dread. She stood before the Decoding Room in awe, and felt the same kind of dizzying apprehension from terrifying stacks of books as she once had from the Restricted Section. Though she was no longer afraid of what lurked inside the Restricted Section, Hermione held a shivering breath as she considered the archives before her.

Enormous and imposing, they consumed her before she'd fully stepped inside. As the sum total of all wizarding agreements, the library was fluid, constantly sorting and re-shelving itself. Shelves and bookcases danced and sorted themselves as new contracts were written. Sections appeared out of nowhere. And the Minotaur's labyrinth grew larger. She'd heard that somewhere towards the center there was a card catalogue, but that could just as well have been a legend.

Licking her lips, Hermione gulped. "Oh dear."

She caught a flicker of Auror robes swishing between shelves. Hermione made off for them in a determined stride and found a young cadet chasing after a floating parchment that quite obviously did not wish to get caught.

"Hello," Hermione called at him. "Can you help me?"

Frowning, he spun and peered at her intensely behind oversized glasses for a moment before recognizing her with a bewildered look. "Good lord, you're Hermione Granger, aren't you? I thought you were supposed to be quite ill."

Hermione arched a challenging eyebrow. "Not if I can sort out this curse."

"Is that what we're working on? Some kind of a curse? Right, well, I suppose we could use all the help we can get." He lit the tip of his wand blue and shot off an orb that illuminated the bound leather books around them with an ominous glow. "Follow this, ma'am and it'll lead you to where we've made our home base."

She thanked him for his help and, after a courteous bow, the young Auror resumed his paper chase. Hermione followed the blue orb as it meandered through towering stacks of parchment and books, until it stopped at a small cluttering of desks. Several freezing Aurors, necks ringed in thick mufflers, sat pouring over parchments in high concentration. Most wore the same glossy-eyed look she recognized from Hogwarts when it rained too much on the pitch and Quidditch got cancelled: they'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything else. Hermione recognized a few faces, but nobody she needed to speak with.

Pausing to look at an unattended table, she picked up a few discarded parchments. They related to the Gringott's account contract she'd signed over for Severus. It was a lengthy treatise on monetary exchange rules for account holders with mixed parentage, including tables in the appendix for those with partial creature blood status. It was a single clause from a single contract. It was too much. There was simply too much to sort through. Too much to read. And it was all in such damnable, abstruse legal writing meant only for solicitors to decipher. She shivered as the chill permeated her robes, and felt foreboding cold in her bones.

Hermione tapped the first Auror she found on the shoulder, startling him slightly. "Excuse me, is Harry Potter here?"

"Yes, ma'am," he gulped.

"Then is Severus Snape here, perchance?"

He nodded vigorously and pointed to a direction between the stacks.

"Thank you," she exhaled.

She found the two wizards whispering together with their heads bent together in front of a wall of file boxes. Hermione silently walked over. She leaned over and read what she could. It was her original Betrothal. Not the reference copy kept on file in the Ministry Records Department, which she had barely skimmed that afternoon. No, it was the full version.

"May I see that contract?" she asked, interrupting their thoughts.

Harry's eyes bulged within his glasses. "Hermione, what are you doing here?"

Severus stood up straight and put his arm beneath her elbow as if he expected her to fall over. "Yes," he growled. "What are you doing here? You should go back to the school at once."

"And do what?" she asked, her voice a strained with desperation. "Do nothing? Swoon while my handsome prince saves me?" She searched his eyes for compassion and understanding. "That might suffice while I'm completely knackered and having attacks, but I'm not now. Please, let me help. I ought to see that document."

"Hermione," Severus begged. "Please. Return to bed at once."

She reached up and smoothed his brow, touching the thin lines which always remained creased from years of constant worry. Her fingers slipped through his fine, dark ribbons of hair. She leaned against him, feeling his strong comfort and support. Hermione looked into his eyes as she pressed herself to him. "I will, Severus," she whispered. "If this curse cripples me again, I will behave for the matron and take all my medicine. I won't even complain about the gruel. But while I have my strength, please allow me to fight this. Do you understand? I can't sit and do nothing right now."

Severus kissed her temple and held her close. "You can help for now," he murmured into her ear. "But you will go back to the Infirmary the moment I sense your condition has changed. I still can't believe Poppy let you leave the Infirmary."

Harry coughed and looked uneasily at the ground.

Wearing thin and feeling frustrated, Hermione glanced at Harry's intrusion. "Your Aurors are ill-prepared and over their heads. The ones I've spoken to have no idea what they're looking for, and are likely wasting precious time. I don't know if they're helping. We need to get them sorted out properly."

Multiple blue orbs were sent throughout the Decoding Room, calling for the return of the Aurors. They came back in drips and drabs looking haggard and nearly undone. One was limping. Clearly, they had joined the Aurory to chase down perpetrators, make stunning arrests, and get shiny medals pinned to their breasts, not be beaten into submission by something that vaguely resembled homework. Demoralized, demotivated, and depressed, they flocked to the cluttering of tables and stood around in a random gaggle of crimson robes. Hermione grabbed a chair and stood upon it. It seemed like a somewhat heroic thing to do. Great and inspiring speeches began with people standing on chairs and tables, except the moment she attempted to stand, the edge of her vision swam and world started to spin…

Severus was behind her in a flash, catching her before she toppled over.

"Thank you," she mumbled from the bower of his arms.

"You seem to forget you've been cursed."

"But I _feel_ better," she stressed. "I almost feel normal. Almost."

Severus set her down gently and cupped the back of her head to gaze into her eyes. "I have some Sylvius Potion, if you think that might help," he said, withdrawing a small turquoise phial from his breast pocket. Hermione gratefully drank _just one swig_ and allowed herself the comfort of settling against Severus' chest while her vision swam in ripples. His solid arms would not let her go.

Harry came over, his brows drawn and furrowed. "'Mione?" he asked warily. "If you're not up to this…"

"I'll be fine in just a minute or two, Harry," she said tiredly. "I just need to ensure everyone is on the same page here. This search ought to be organized and orderly. It requires thorough and diligent research. They should be sectioned off into teams, each concentrating on a different contract instead of wandering around, flapping about. And they should have an idea of what they're looking for, with a communication plan in place. And I was going to pump them up a bit."

Harry traded glances with Snape.

"Is that what you were going to tell the lads?" Harry asked.

"Well of course I was. I do know motivational speaking techniques."

Harry grunted. "Stay here, Hermione. I know motivation techniques for Aurors."

Chief Inspector Auror Harry Potter kicked the chair Hermione Granger intended to stand upon across the floor. "Right, you wretched lot," he barked. "We have a very sick war hero on our hands. And each and every one of you poor miserable sods is personally responsible for her welfare today. Have you got it?"

"Yes, C.I. Potter!" they responded in unison.

"I want this place turned over. Somewhere in one of these contracts is a cursed clause that's killing her, and you will find it. Jackson, take your team and follow up on the Azkaban contracts. Turner, your team has Gringotts. Stewart and Wang, you're chasing down the wedding contracts. I want you to dig holes, lots of holes. And I will rip lumps out of anyone I see doffing off. Am I understood?"

"Yes, C.I. Potter!"

Harry came over and softly enquired to Severus, "How's she doing?"

"I'm fine," Hermione replied, trying to shake her lingering lightheadedness off. "And you were brilliant."

He smiled shyly, looking rather unkempt and boyish. "Good, then hopefully we'll turn up something right today, but don't worry, 'Mione, we'll find this curse. We will cure you."

She smiled for him. Harry expected her to smile and believe that everything would work out. Heroes always rushed in on time and made the daring save, and Hermione knew it. She'd seen it enough times before and had been thankful for Order members charging in with their wands at the ready or Portkeys activating at the last possible second. Behind her smile, she felt the hollow ache of a non-believer. Their continual assurances that they would find her cure was… nice. Pulling a quarter of the Aurory off their desks to help her was touching. But none of them could guarantee they could save her. Those promises were not meant to keep.

Hermione followed the groups of Aurors, offering suggestions where she could, and attempted the monumental task of organizing the documents. Glowing blue orbs lit every distant corner of the cavernous room as Aurors chased down relevant parchments. They took their duties seriously after Harry's rousing speech, but it might have also had something to do with Severus. He prowled the work area supervising their task in the same manner as he'd overseen his classrooms. Every Auror was conscious of Snape on patrol and kept to their task.

"Watkins!" Severus hissed.

The Auror Second Class yelped from his chair as a wand clattered to the floor.

"We do not deface Ministry property by carving our initials into the furniture. Go help Thompson and Floyd since you've nothing better to do."

Hermione hid a chortling laugh behind her hand. His boot steps carried on the stone floor, and her heart swelled with love for her husband. Fixated, venomous and truly unique, she loved him for all of his mad hatter eccentricities, and wouldn't have him any other way. Severus turned at the sound of her laugh, ready with a nasty reprimand, but caught sight of her and only smirked.

Madam Pince appeared at their clutter of desks, her lips pursed tightly together. "You have more visitors," she drawled waspishly. Her mother and father, escorted by Bill Weasley, appeared from within the stacks. Hermione ran to greet them.

"Mum," she cried, throwing her arms around her.

Her mum had borrowed someone's robes and they didn't smell right. They didn't smell like her Mum, who always smelled of the garden and fresh laundry. Hermione clutched her so tightly, because she needed her. Everything felt like it was crumbling apart inside and she needed her mother so desperately.

"However did you make it here?"

"Well, that magical castle of yours is very fascinating, but you know it couldn't keep us away from you. It took us a bit to track you down, but ta… It would figure you'd run off to a library." Bonnie embraced her warmly and smoothed her hands down her daughter's hair. She shrugged and offered a mysterious smile that had a way of answering questions. "Minerva had us Floo through to the Minister's office and nobody has stopped us."

Embracing her once again, her mum said, "It's good to see you looking so well. Have you found it yet?"

Her father leaned in to hear the answer.

"Ah, well…" Hermione's smile wasn't as convincing as it had been for Harry, but she tried to put on a brave face for her parents. "It's likely somewhere in there."

Together they looked out upon the haphazard fill of desks. Each was piled high with a tower of parchment. The Aurors who had returned were clustered around the stacks and busy reading.

"Oh," her mum said, her voice catching. "All that?"

"How can we help?" her father said steadily.

"Just read. I need all the sets of eyes I can get." Hermione smiled encouragingly. But it was enough that they had come. Even though she hadn't asked for them. Even though she hadn't told them where she was going. Their support and love buoyed her up, it shored up the empty patch in her chest that had formed. And gave her just a bit of hope.

Severus had a research spell. It was a very dandy little spell that helped track down related materials within texts. The only buggering thing was it wasn't precise, though it did help cut down on the thousands of pages worth of reading. She cast the spell for her parents and set them down at a desk with a few stacks of parchment.

Hermione took up a promising pile. Severus' spell indicated she only had thirty or so pages to sort through to find her curse reference, so she began to read. At the bottom of the first page, she had to massage the crick that had formed in her neck. It ached and she used her fingers to ply and manipulate the strained muscles until she was ready again. Within a few paragraphs, her vision started swimming at the periphery. Hermione looked up, fingers clutching at the contract.

"I need to do this," she said quietly aloud.

She was six pages into a ridiculously worded definition of recidivism from Azkaban and the penalties thereof, when a great cry when up.

"I found something!" an Auror shouted triumphantly. "I think I found something!"

Hermione and half the Aurory clambered toward the desk. Severus pulled the parchment from his fingers. The tendrils of hope lifted her up as she waited expectantly for the words that would deliver her. Her mum pushed through the Aurors to stand next to her and squeeze her hand. Hermione laid her head on her mum's shoulder as they waited for Severus to read the news.

"Gringott's," Severus jeered, baring his teeth. Hermione closed her eyes; she knew she should have read that account statement before she signed it. Severus skimmed the offending curse while everyone held their collective breath.

"Fuckwit," Severus said, handing the document back to the Auror. "It's the Gringott's Curse." Several people rolled their eyes. "If you attempt to ruin their precious banking institution or cause the collapse of the Galleon, the Head Goblin will endeavor to curse you, your family, your offspring, your land, your children's land, your neighbor's land, and your owl. It's standard with every account. Though Granger did run afoul of the Goblins several years ago, during the war, there hasn't been a Head Goblin to enact such a curse in over three centuries."

"Sorry," the Auror muttered.

"Back to work," Severus ordered. "All of you."

The Aurors around her groaned and shuffled off, several muttered rude words concerning their co-worker who'd found the amazing Gringott's curse.

"Mum," Hermione said. "I'm…" but she was at a loss for words.

Bonnie Granger embraced her daughter tightly, offering warmth in the dark and cold Decoding Room. Kissing her forehead gently, she whispered, "Baby, there is so much more for you. Life is not finished with you yet, so don't give up."

"Thanks, mum."

She tried to remember her words, the warm of her concern and the way she made her feel, but the hours ticked on without progress. A Ministry tea trolley came, serving tasteless tea and biscuits, and several Aurors had gone off for a smoke. Others left for meal breaks and shift change. Every time Hermione looked up from her reading to massage her aching neck, it seemed like another desk was empty. They were abandoning her, abandoning the cause. Perhaps she was a lost cause.

Shivering in the emptiness of the archives, she felt like a lost cause. It had been spelled out clearly to her, by Poppy, Minerva, Bill, and Severus. She was dying. Her fate was sealed and inevitable. It was only her stubborn pigheadedness that had kept pushing them onward; eventually they would have to concede the truth. She was a slow wilting flower. So many Aurors were working her case. Would they continue the fight when she returned to her hospital bed?

"Severus," Bill called some time later, from across the room. "I think I may have found something of interest over here."

Hermione followed him to the cluster of Aurors set up together. The Betrothal and Marriage contract teams had joined together to read.

"You see," Bill explained, "Though they're two documents, they really ought to be read together. One sets up the other."

"For marriage," Hermione stated.

"No," Bill corrected. "For the merging of your estates. That is primarily why parties were married under these types of contracts." Several Aurors reading around the group nodded their heads vigorously.

"I don't have an estate." Hermione shook her head and glanced over at her parents. They were huddled together and trying to make sense of a document that was mostly lowland Gibberish. They had their practice, which was sold ages ago and put into a retirement trust, and the house, a few investments, but otherwise nothing noteworthy. And she wasn't flush with cash either. She rented her flat, collected a measly editor's assistant salary from her publishing firm cover, and counted her memories as her greatest possessions.

"I don't have an estate, either," Severus affirmed, thinking about the car park that used to be his home.

"Not according to your Betrothal contract. It sets up a very firm administration of your accounts. Hermione's bride price is negotiated, and significant stipulations are made for the dissolution of your marriage and redistribution of wealth."

"Dissolution?" Hermione gasped.

"Yeah. Looks like whoever set this up intended it to dissolve quickly."

"Dumbledore." Hermione pinched her brow, her mind whirling. It was too much, and she wasn't certain how to process the new information. _Dissolve?_ As unlikely as it could have seemed only a few short weeks ago, her marriage was her most important relationship, and the thought of losing Severus was heartbreaking. "It was meant to be dissolved the whole time? I still don't even understand how we were married in the first place, and now I'm learning this."

"You were united symbolically," an Auror piped up. "With doves."

Several heads nodded. One person pointed to the text. "Doves were released and they flew east. It portends well for a harmonious relationship," he explained.

"Fucking augurs," Severus muttered.

"Look, is there anything in the documents that points to a curse?" Hermione asked, feeling a headache forming. Several Aurors looked around for confirmation and there were some shrugs. "Has the research revealing spell come up with anything?"

"Not really, ma'am, but we're still working on it."

Hermione sighed. "Thanks lads. I know you'll find something."

Severus turned to her, and she was grateful for the moment together, to look into his concerned eyes, which softened just for her. He could see her slipping. Severus conjured a light and led her into the hushed labyrinth of dry parchment and aging contracts, where they found a private alcove.

His hand slipped around the back of her neck, where he'd seen her massage the tension. "Are you up to this, Hermione?"

Ignoring her automatic response of _I'm fine_, she closed her eyes briefly and gave his question the honest consideration it deserved. Truthfully, she was tired, more so than she'd ever been accomplishing what should have been easy research, but it was her last shot. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't allow her out of bed a second time.

"I'm a bit knackered," she apprehensively conceded. "It's been a lot more draining than I thought it would be, and I'd hoped we'd have something to show for it."

Nothing was going in their favor. Even after organizing the Auors, they'd come up with a complete loss. And her prospects were growing dim. Hermione's lower lip started to tremble on its own so she worried it with her teeth, because with the pain in her heart she felt quite near crying. Severus moved forward, slowly, as if she were skittish and might dart away, and reached over to cup her face. He gently pulled her lip from within the troubling confines of her teeth so that it popped free.

"You always seem to do that when you're distressed, and I've never been able to make you stop," he mused, his eyes intent on her lips. "It's a horrid habit."

"I…" she started

Severus' lips were warm and soft as they closed over hers, filling her with a tingling desire. She heard him take an inhalation of breath as his mouth opened, and his tongue stroked against hers. Her arms twined around his broad shoulders for support as they deepened the kiss. _This_ This was what she needed more than a whole bloody battalion of Aurors. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, her body hummed with life and want for her man. She remained in his arms, clinched and nuzzled together until Severus pulled back.

"Shall I take you back to Poppy's?" Severus asked gently.

She plucked at the small buttons at his collar. "Let me finish the day out here, then I'll go back." She kissed the tip of his nose. "I promise. Unless you want to skip back to my flat and continue this conversation there." She taunted him with what she hoped was a sexy look.

"Later," he promised. "There will be plenty of time for that when we break your curse."

Hermione followed Severus through the stacks back to a desk and picked up more reading. She wasn't certain what she'd hoped to accomplish with her Decoding Room search when she'd started. Hermione had imagined walking in, finding her curse right from the get-go, pinning the responsible party against the wall by wandpoint, and be able to lash out with the entirety of her emotion. She'd been filled with righteous fury. As she put her head down on a desk and closed her eyes, she was overcome with incredible sadness. Even with an army of Aurors, the fight seemed beyond her reach. She was tired. Her bones ached. And she really wanted just another swig of his potion to feel normal again. A hand tapped her gently on the shoulder. Gritting her teeth, Hermione looked up at the cadet Auror she'd met when she'd first come in.

"Yes," she asked feeling slightly washed out.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but does your curse sigil look like this?" He held out a piece of paper that had several overlapping up and down lines, deep entwined loops and crisp flourishes. Hermione stared at the sigil for a moment blinking back tears in her eyes.

"Yes." She nodded, feeling overwrought. "That's my curse sigil."

* * *

_This mystery had very high stakes!_

_Could you tell the real clues from the fakes?_

_A wand hidden from view._

_All that yucky snake goo._

_OMG - It wasn't the snakes._

Limerick by Morethansirius.


	20. Chapter 20 Plot!

**Chapter 20 – Plot!**

"_Begging your pardon, ma'am, but does your curse sigil look like this?" He held out a piece of paper that had several overlapping up and down lines, deep entwined loops and crisp flourishes. Hermione stared at the sigil for a moment before breaking out into a happy smile. She glanced at the young Auror with tears in her eyes._

"_Yes." She nodded, feeling overwrought. "That's my curse sigil."_

He'd drawn out her sigil crudely with his feathered quill. The curves were wobbly and didn't line up perfectly. He had a tendency to put too much pressure on the downward slant causing too much ink to leak from the nib, which suggested poor penmanship, but to Hermione, who held the piece of paper as she held on to hope, it was perfect.

"Can you show me where you found this?" Hermione asked, holding back the choke in her voice.

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded eagerly, pointing to a desk piled with yellowing parchments. "It's just over there."

Hermione rose slowly as the cadet Auror dashed off to reexamine his find. As her legs carried her forward, Hermione whispered a prayer. She'd been down this road before and had hoped with all her heart only to hit a stumbling block. She didn't know if she had the strength to pick herself up again, if her curse sigil led to another dead end. Hermione came to Severus where he was bent over a lengthy Latin text and touched him on his shoulder. He looked up immediately in concern. Without a word, Hermione slipped him the piece of parchment and held her breath. She watched him study the lines. Each intricate detail was precisely measured. They would not get this wrong again.

"You found this?" he asked in a hushed tone.

She indicated the light haired Auror flipping through texts excitedly as his glasses slid further down the bridge of his nose. "He did."

Severus folded the paper up. "I'll show this to Bill."

"Is this it?" she asked. Her stomach quivered and she gripped the desk for support. "Could this be it?" Hermione barely dared to raise her voice above a whisper. To speak of hope too loudly felt like courting disaster. It was frail and needed nurturing. She sought affirmation in his dark midnight eyes, but Severus would not give it.

"We'll see," he pensively stated, his mouth set in a hard line.

Quietly and without fanfare, they gathered around the desk, Harry and Hermione, the Grangers, Bill and Severus, hushed and leaning together for support. They looked on as the novice Auror rifled through paperwork to produce the multiple sections pertinent to Hermione's curse.

"It starts here and is linked to her signature there," the Auror pointed out. "And you can see where it activates…" He handed over the documents to Bill to read.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "You have no idea how much I appreciate you finding this curse."

He looked to Harry briefly for guidance before responding, "Just doing my job, ma'am."

"And my thanks, as well. What's your name, young man?" Bonnie asked.

Shifting uncomfortably, he responded with a wince, "Auggy, ma'am."

"Young Mister Rookwood has performed admirably well, especially in light that several of his contemporaries have not returned from their breaks," Severus offered. "I am most pleased in Mister Rookwood's performance here. I do believe there was a certain Gurdyroot incident."

"Yes," he said sinking into his chair.

"And our agreement was, if you cleaned up your behavior, the incident would remain between us." All evidence of Auggy Rookwood Jr.'s nasty little indiscretion had already been Vanished while he was hunting through his tent for Hermione's curse, but those weren't germane details to a thoroughly Slytherin conversation. "I see it's time that I uphold my end of the bargain, Mister Rookwood. And you have my congratulations on your Auror robes."

Bill cleared his throat and they anxiously turned to hear his pronouncement.

"Well, it's definitely our curse." Hermione sighed and sagged against her husband's warm chest. They had found what they were looking for, the relief was palpable. "The trigger belongs to Severus' prison release papers. Who has been classified as a highly dangerous and very suspicious wizard. Severus, your Azkaban charge sheet notes that you're a non-violent offender and you've never been convicted of a major crime, but according to these records they've listed you as a class three prisoner."

"He's Snape," Auggy mumbled. "Of course he's suspicious."

"And dangerous," Severus drily conceded, with the faintest smirk.

"Trust me, it doesn't do you any favors, my friend. They've put you on the Ministry watch list. They're just waiting for an opportunity to send you back, so it's a good thing you haven't been doing anything illegal, or else you'd be locked up for life." Bill said looking at the document.

Severus stiffened as blood drained from his face. Hermione had warned him. He could hear her voice echoing through his head. _An illegal Portkey – for a newly released prisoner you do come up with inventive ways to get yourself thrown back in._ Oh and how he had. Romilda Vane was an easy enough witch to write off. But the Morsmordre cast all over wizarding Britain… that would be a difficult one to explain to the Wizengamot. _My apologies for causing fear, panic and civil unrest. It was not my intension to announce the third rising of the Dark Lord or recruit for more Death Eaters. I simply wanted a bit of peace for my wife and I and it seemed like a reasonable diversion at the time_. Severus looked over to Harry, dreading the arrest that was surely coming.

Boy wonder. The child who lived, and lived again, shrugged.

Shrugged. A negligent, inelegant shrug. As if to say, _what do I care?_

_Well, if that's all_, Severus thought, as his coloring returned its normal unhealthy pale instead of a ghostly pale, _then it really took all the fun out of misbehaving_.

"Tell me," Bill continued, completely oblivious to Severus' panic. "Have you been living at home and employed?"

"No." He enunciated the single syllable with all the vitriol and distemper he could imbue it with. His lips twisted as if spitting a curse. "My home was demolished without my knowledge while I was incarcerated on the Ministry's approval. And I've been unable to find any work." He grimaced with self loathing. "I am either over qualified or unskilled; regardless, nobody wants me."

Severus lifted his chin and dared anyone in the gathering to say a word against him.

"Oh, I see." Bill tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Where have you been living these last few weeks? How have you been keeping yourself?"

Severus sputtered. "I've stayed with friends. I stayed a night or two with Madam Longbottom before moving in with Hermione."

Bill's brow furrowed up. He looked up from the documents and peered at them directly. "You moved in? Then this can't be right; there has to be a complete clerical error here."

Wincing, Severus corrected himself. "I live in a tent out back. I thought it might be unseemly to cohabitate with Hermione, we'd only just found out we were married."

"Ah. Now, that's something entirely different. Owls might be able to find tents, but to the Ministry they're not a fixed address, and an itinerant address is the same to the Ministry as homeless. And that's not permitted. What about a job? Or has Hermione ever provided you with money?"

"I haven't found a job yet. And Hermione occasionally gives me money for the house upkeep," he said miserably.

"Well, there's the rest of your problem," Bill said with a long puff of air. "By occasionally providing you with money, she only temporarily staved off the worst of her symptoms."

Hermione burrowed her face into his chest. The warmth of his woolen cassock was a comfort against the slowly dawning realization. Severus clutched her to him for mutual support. He had brought this curse upon her. Not the Dark Lord's foul offspring, or by Dumbledore's machinations, though there was plenty of room for blame, but he'd brought this curse to her doorstep. And he was responsible for hurting another woman he loved.

"The contract automatically monitors itself and you've been in violation of the terms of your release ever since you stepped out of prison. Although technically, they couldn't return you to Azkaban since you hadn't been arrested, but Hermione has been cursed to enforce your contract. She was responsible for your care when she avowed for you. I've got her signature right here as your next of kin."

The memories of that day came back to them with stunning clarity. She had avowed for him. Hermione had signed his release documents in an annoyed huff, trying to get out of there as fast as she could, more intent on returning to what was left of her weekend than the particulars of what she was signing. Snape, as he'd been then, hadn't been her problem. He was just a possible candidate to work for Malfoy at another location and never cross her path. The less people she interacted with who could ask pesky personal questions, the better. And Severus wasn't interested in being bothered by Granger either.

"_If you don't remember me from class sir, I'm Mister Newman. You failed me during my third year."_

"_Yes, and if it hadn't been for your Head of House, you'd have been expelled. Now get on with it, boy."__  
_

"_Oh – right," the clerk nervously cleared his throat. "Congratulations on your release. I have some paperwork you both need to sign and fill out. Where you intend to live, how you intend to support yourself, as well as a promise not to recidivate."__  
_

_Snape pulled a sour face. "And just how would I recidivate – you already know I can fly."__  
_

_Newman looked helpless and flapped about.__  
_

"_You could always go back to prison if you don't like it," Hermione suggested, taking her cue from the tactics of the earlier clerk.__  
_

_Snape glared at her for interfering.__  
_

_Hermione ignored him in favor of flipping through the paperwork she needed to sign. Again it listed her as the next of kin. She didn't get that, but it stated clearly she was, and in small print on page two it said: 'related by way of marriage.'__  
_

_Well, there it was.__  
_

_Some distant relative of her was a distant relative by marriage to him. As she casually flipped through the obscure contract, Snape poured over it obsessively, rapidly firing off questions at the clerk.__  
_

_Yes, some of the promises were vow-bound.__  
_

_No, the clerk didn't know which ones.__  
_

_Snape refused to sign anything without clear answers on which promises were vow-bound._

_Hermione glanced piteously at her watch; the whole day had gone to pot.__  
_

"_Oh, for fuck's sake," Hermione hissed at him as Newman tottered off to find his supervisor.__  
_

"_Just sign the papers so we can leave."__  
_

"_I don't recall asking you to be here," Sn__ape snarked. "And I refuse to b__vow/__b__ anything the Ministry hands me without investigating it first." Snape's brow furrowed up. "Just why are you here, Miss Granger? Where's Minerva?"__  
_

_Hermione gave a longsuffering sigh, blowing an errant curl from her face.__  
_

"_Supposedly I'm your next of kin – we're family."__  
_

"_Impossible."__  
_

"_Improbable," she pointed out. "I don't think it's likely either, but that's what their paperwork says, and they're hell-bent on it." Hermione flipped to the small print on page two and pointed it out to his surprise. "Apparently we share some distant relative."__  
_

"_So, you are my kinfolk - oh, goodie." He surveyed her up and down slowly, those hawkish black eyes inspecting every detail of her body. "Of course, the family resemblance between us is overwhelming."__  
_

_She snorted.__  
_

"_It bears investigating," he said pensively.__  
_

"_In case you ever need a kidney transplant?"__  
_

"_Something like that."__  
_

_Newman returned with his supervisor. Their conversation was fairly short. The contractual terms of his release were completely standard and absolutely straightforward: take it or leave it. The Aurors were standing by to escort him back to Azkaban if need be. Snape signed. _

"If you were unable to provide for yourself, Hermione was obligated to provide a place to live and regular income," Bill summed up. "Without either of those the curse was automatically enforced and grew in power until it couldn't be ignored. Hermione's doing better now because she must have provided for you somehow."

"I signed over my Gringott's account to Severus in my will," she offered. "It wasn't much money, really."

"Sure, that'd do it." Bill nodded. "There's no specific amount of money that you're obligated to provide. You're just obligated. When you contractually signed over your Gringott's account in your will, you demonstrated an intent to provide."

Severus cleared his throat. It was time to ask the only true question that mattered. "What do we need to do to remove this curse?"

"Personally, I'd try to have you reclassified as a class one offender as a long term solution. You've never been convicted of anything violent, but that might take too much time to organize and could require a full Wizengamot session."

Hermione shook her head in protest remembering how Severus had been before Judge Snodgrass: silent and quaking, cold, desperate and haunted by his terrible past. He was so frightened of what passed as Ministry justice that she didn't think he could stand up to a full session. She knew he wouldn't survive the experience.

"Otherwise, you just need a permanent address and a job." Bill dropped the offending contract on the desk.

"Is that it?" Severus asked incredulously. "That's all I have to do and Hermione lives?"

"Yeah, that's it. You can get a job or have Hermione provide regularly for you; it's your choice. Once you've satisfied the obligations it'll turn dormant," he shrugged. "And now you know why I prefer teaching to curse breaking. Nasty business."

Severus turned to her and gently grasped her chin. Her hair was a mass of tangled curls, partially covering her face; Severus brushed them away so he could see her eyes more clearly. His voice was soft like a warm caress as he leaned in, whispering in her ear, his words full of emotion.

"Hermione, may I move in?"

She laughed at the absurdity of the request. The entire situation was beyond logic and comprehension. Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, of course."

When his soft lips met her mouth, it felt as if the entire world stood still, just for them. That there, in the deepest recesses of the Ministry, where no natural light could ever permeate the ground, there was sunshine. When they parted, Hermione looked to him, a smile playing around her lips.

"Let's fix this, my love," she whispered. "Move in with me and let's work together. If you can't work for Malfoy, have you ever considered the wonderful joys of being a poorly paid publishing assistant?"

"I think I could manage that quite well," Severus smirked. Then he kissed her, sealing their words as fate.

"Not to butt in and ruin your moment, Severus." Harry stated.

Hermione growled lowly in her throat, and Severus thought it was _her moment_ he was actually ruining. She was kissing rather possessively and if there was a way to Apparate them from within the Ministry (which there wasn't) he would have bundled her up and taken her home for some well deserved hot chocolate and snogging. They broke their kiss and turned to Harry wearing similar looking scowls.

"Look, I pulled a lot of strings for you in Azkaban to get you privileges, and to help you any way I could, but you weren't classified as dangerous. If you had been, my hands would have been tied. They don't make just anyone a class three prisoner; not even Sirius had that on him." His green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Did anyone warn you at all about this curse?"

"No," Hermione answered definitively. "The clerks who processed our paperwork didn't know about the contract or say anything about a curse. There was just a mention that some parts were oath-bound." She carefully omitted the fact that she'd been very impatient that day and would have signed to just about anything.

Harry scratched his head. "That's completely off book. The protocols for releasing a prisoner are very strict. I'm sorry I wasn't there the day you were released; I was up to my ears in an illegal Pygmy Puff breeding operation. Those things are nothing but trouble and I'm still finding the little blighters in my clothing." He shook his head regretfully. "It sounds to me as if there's something more going on here. Your prisoner classification came with Hermione's curse attached, but without informing you both of your obligations. That practically guarantees Hermione's death and your re-incarceration. Especially if they knew your home had been destroyed, or helped destroy it." Harry paused and drew a long breath. "It sounds like someone set you up." Harry said grimly. "Both of you."

Severus and Hermione exchanged startled glances. Had someone set them up?

"Someone's trying to get you back into prison," Hermione whispered, feeling her voice break with tender emotion. She would not allow it. As long as her body held breath, she would not let her husband return to that foul place where dreams died.

He touched her cheek tenderly with his fingers, holding the warmth of his regard. "And someone is trying to kill you," he murmured. "It looks like they're trying to get rid of the both of us."

She nodded once, turning her face into the cradle of his hand. Kissing his palm, Hermione knew that whomever had decided to muck with their lives had made a very unfortunate decision. It wasn't because she carried Bellatrix's unregistered wand and had mastered some rather inventive hexes, or because she was a frightful good witch with a head for vengeance when required. And it wasn't because they had threatened her life, her loved ones, and the secrecy of her work. No. They would become very sorry when she found them for _all those reasons_, because Hermione Jean was thorough like that.

"I feel rather disinclined to allow such a thing," Hermione said. "I'm fond of you." Her lips twitched with a smile. "You have grown on me, curmudgeonly old man. And now that I'm going to have you in the flat properly, I think you might grow on me still."

"Oh?" Severus teased. "And what would you do with me?"

"Keep you. You're mine now. But whoever is manipulating our contracts is a threat to our lives, and I cannot allow that." She nodded resolutely, which in Hermione-speak, settled everything.

"Hermione, love, a word?" Hermione turned at the urgent tapping on her shoulder to see her mother looking nervous. Hermione shot Severus an apologetic look as she turned away and joined her parents who were huddled together.

"You know we love you very much, and we're so proud of the way you've blossomed and grown into a fine young woman, but your father and I are worried." They pasted on weak smiles of mutual encouragement. "When you introduced us to Severus, you know we were thrilled you had met someone who was good for you, but honey, he's a criminal."

The spot between Hermione's eyebrows began to throb. Within a single instant she'd fallen from her high of being in love with Severus, knowing she had the ability to fix her curse, and quite possibly string up whomever had hooked them dirty in the first place, to falling here… into a conversation with her parents on Severus' suitability. What could she tell them that could convince them he was a good man? They had heard one thing and one thing only – convict. Man in prison.

"We're just worried, sweetie," her mum continued. "You can't be too certain about these things. And if he lays his hand on you once, you know he'll do it again. Even if it's minor, that's how the cycle of violence works." She nodded vigorously. "There's a program on the telly…"

"Mum," Hermione cut across, her voice an octave above shrill-harpy. "Severus spent six years in prison for a technicality of paperwork." It was a creative editing of the facts. Of all the many, many, many charges brought against him, it was the only one that stuck. "He was flying without a license."

She watched her mum's brow crease and furrow up. "Is that anything like driving without a license?"

"Exactly so," Hermione answered. And knowing precisely how to work her mother up in a royal moral outrage, she expounded. "He wasn't even allowed to apply for a license." _By Lord Voldemort's command._ "But they locked him up for not having one."

"My heavens, six years?" she gasped, placing her hand to her chest. "That poor man."

Hermione smiled. "Go easy on him, Mum. He may be a bit fragile, but I like this one."

"Oh yes, of course," she said. "We'll do our best to make him feel welcome in the family."

Hermione rejoined her husband and looped herself under his arm. "Can we go?" she asked, surveying the Aurors wrapping up their work. Harry had taken charge again of his cadre. Madam Pince had rematerialized from nowhere, because there were parchments to reshelve. And though they were magical, they were not going to reshelve themselves. All around them, tables were being pushed back, resorted and restocked. The party was ending.

Bill trotted over, looking well satisfied. "Here," he said, holding out a magical yellow envelope. "Inside are copies of all of your contracts and everything we found today. You never know when this might be important."

Severus gratefully pocketed the envelope. "I think we're headed back to Hermione's flat." He looked to her for confirmation. She smiled and nodded in agreement. "It's probably best if I move in as soon as possible to obtain a permanent address."

"That's wise," Bill agreed. "I'll take the Granger's home through Hogwarts and give a report there. I'm sure Minerva's anxious to hear about Hermione, especially after she ran off from the Infirmary without saying where she was going."

Hermione attempted to look innocent and failed spectacularly. Severus arched an incredulous eyebrow.

"How Slytherin," he commented drily.

Severus proffered his arm. She took it, and they walked out of the Decoding Room together. Their breaths made small puffy clouds of water vapor in the chilly air. Outside the Decoding Room, it wasn't nearly as cold, but within Hermione's bones, she felt the dank darkness even more acutely. They rode the lift together in absolute silence. Together they crossed hallways and passed through great corridors. The Ministry held absolute power within the state and tremendous ability to affect change and control lives.

The Ministry had placed a curse sigil on Hermione's life because she was responsible for Severus. Hermione acknowledged this and understood it. It was ridiculous, but she understood now the terms of his release. She was responsible for his welfare, and that was it. The Ministry had placed conditions upon Severus' release that in the event he recidivated, he would return to Azkaban prison. As a civilian, he understood that there were consequences for breaking the law.

Someone had gone out of their way to place conditions upon them that a normal citizen would not have. Only someone with great power within the Ministry would be able to affect Severus' Azkaban paperwork and the conditions of his release. The hallways of justice narrowed and Hermione shuddered as she walked.

Severus touched her arm. "Come with me," he muttered, turning. They were nearly to the exit, but Severus weaved them through the twisting bureaucratic maze of offices and hallways.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked, her footsteps clicking as she kept up with the stretch of his long legs.

"Registration bureau."

Hermione stopped dead. "I won't. Severus Snape, I live absolutely off the grid in a Muggle area with only three other people on my wards. I've been able to keep wizards from my door and away from my work by remaining unregistered and undetectable, and I'm not about to start compromising the integrity of my project by giving the Ministry my address."

He held her gaze, steadfast and resolute. "Yes, one day someone may look up your address. And they may come calling at your door. But you'll be able to greet them, because you'll be alive to do so."

"You worry that even if you move in; it won't be legitimate because my address doesn't show up in Ministry records."

Severus spread his hands wide in an open gesture. "I don't know, but I'm unwilling to gamble with your life."

Beneath her breath, Hermione cursed the Ministry. It was an unbelievable two Galleon fee to register her address. And a further two Galleon fee to register Severus as living at her address. Hermione paid both fees.

"See that," she muttered, handing over four stinking Galleons. "I'm providing for you. I feel better already."

* * *

_The Decoding Room was their last shot,_

_For a contract they'd signed and forgot._

_Though they found the right curse,_

_Things just keep getting worse,_

_For it seems now they're part of a plot!_

Limerick by **Morethansirius** and **Christev**

If you LOVED the curse plot-twist and it made you exclaim _ZOMG! That is brilliant!_ You can thank _Master Plot Mistress_, **Mischievous_t.** If you hated it, aim your mushy tomatoes at me.


	21. Chapter 21 Drinking!

**Chapter 21 - Drinking!**

Severus Snape demonstrated the proper technique required for side-along Apparition. Contrary to any Ministry-approved lesson, there was no requirement for jumping into hoops, fumbling about with a damnable list of D's or twirling wildly about with a hip-snap. His preferred procedure for Apparition was to encircle Hermione's waist with his arms, wait until she looked up at him expectantly, with her lips curved upwards in a kissable smile, and move. Surely there were some magical mechanics to it, astrophysics, mathematics, quantum something-or-other, but for him it was as easy as taking a step from one place into another. With Hermione in his arms, it was ever more pleasant.

Standing on her living room rug, her arms tightened about his neck as she leaned closer.

"I can't believe you got me to agree to registering," she sighed against him.

"Me neither," he mumbled, just before tasting her lips.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, reeling back. She held him at arm's length, but didn't step away from his embrace. "You're playing at something, Snape."

"Of course I am." His fingers were light and soft as they manipulated the muscles of her back, and as Hermione relaxed she rather thought that was how he operated: a gentle master manipulator.

"With my address exposed, I feel like bait," she muttered.

"We're both bait," he tenderly promised, slipping a hand down her shoulder. "Finding out who set us up could take ages, or…" He smoothly placed a nuzzling kiss on the skin beneath her ear. "We can lure them out."

"I'm adding extra warding," Hermione warned, feeling uncomfortable in the way her home had been laid bare to the Ministry's probing eyes. They knew her location, which meant everyone knew her location. It made her feel unsafe.

"Please do. I'll help."

"No," Hermione said quickly. "Your style of wards will get you thrown back in prison. I saw what bit of nastiness you put on the tent."

"That would require enforcement and Harry won't touch me." Severus was putting a lot of faith on just a shrug, but he knew deep in his bones Harry wouldn't arrest him. Not over a bit of protective warding meant to keep Hermione safe. He didn't trust Aurors. They made him feel itchy all over, which was probably just a lingering twitch of being deloused too many times, and for no damned good reason. Aurors peered at him hungrily, as if they knew he was a rotten sort - which he was - and they could bang him up for whatever unsolved crime they had on the books. And though Harry was a mid-level Chief Inspector Auror, he had very high connections and was poised to go places. This meant he should have been the biggest bastard of all, but Harry didn't make him feel itchy.

He was his father's son. It didn't place him high in Severus' esteem. And Lily's boy. The less said on that account, the better. Two thoroughly Gryffindor parents had given birth to the most thick-skulled Gryffindor since Godric himself. But Severus, for some unearthly reason, had learned to trust Harry.

And Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Which meant hell was currently experiencing a nice wintery frost probably not unlike the Ministry Decoding Room.

Hermione searched his eyes for affirmation. "Okay, so if Harry's willing to ensure the Aurory turns a blind eye to any of your creative misdeeds, that should give us plenty of flexibility, but I wouldn't count on Harry for everything. He will have to enforce the law if you do something huge." Her voice was a plea for restraint.

Severus arched a challenging eyebrow that seemed to push the very limit of its boundaries. _How? Abduction and Morsmordre casting were permissible. When would he begin enforcing the law?_ Severus remained silent because Hermione only had a vague idea of such things. He'd told her he'd arranged for Romilda to take a well deserved vacation, and though Hermione hadn't been completely fooled, she thought it was a lovely idea.

"Let me get my things from the tent and satisfy my requirement for a permanent address," Severus muttered, not catching her eye-contact. "I want this curse dormant and you feeling better as soon as possible."

He could tell she didn't approve of his methods or intent to skirt the law as much as permissible, or as much as he was able to get away with it. And really, if nobody knew of your misdeeds or could trace them back to you, there wasn't a problem. People only apologized when they got caught. In the canvas tent in the back garden, Severus collected his things as he needed them, shrinking and packing until everything he owned was properly crated the way they had been the day he'd arrived. Severus held the tiny crates, which looked like little dice in his palm and sighed heavily. He reflected on how everything in his life seemed to upend.

He didn't mind moving again, no not nearly. He didn't mind finding a proper space in Hermione's flat. Though he hoped his welcome was because his presence was wanted there and not forced to a nasty oath-bound curse. He sighed because, though he wasn't a very materialistic man, there was something sad about the sum total of all he owned fitting in his hand. Even when opened up and spread out, it wasn't much to look on. He couldn't offer his wife material goods. He'd brought a curse upon her head. He was neither handsome nor desirable. And he was not a particularly nice person. Wishing he had more to offer his bride, he resolved to try to at least make her happy in their marriage.

He finished cleaning the tent, leaving it in the condition in which Hermione had given it to him and freshened the linens on Ronald's bed, which still had the light lingering pong of flobberworm entrails. Once satisfied with his job, Severus stood outside and shrunk it back down into what looked like a child's toy. He pocketed the tent because Hermione was right; such an object was handy to have around. Working to dismantle the tent's wards, Severus returned the back garden to its rightful state and ensured the grass was properly restored. Once finished, he yawned. The sun had disappeared, slipping beneath the horizon and taking with it the light. Walking to the farthest darkened corner of the lot, Severus tried to Apparate into Hermione's flat and failed, proving to him that she'd reset her wards. He trudged to the lift and waved hello to Mister McCorkle along the way.

He knocked politely on her door and waited as the sound of wards clicked on the other side.

"Hi," she said, leaning on the door frame, her wand at her thigh, just in case.

"Melodramatic witch," Severus said gesturing to her readied wand, as he entered her flat. "Just because we visited the Decoding Room today and outed our location to the Ministry this afternoon, does not mean we should expect a sinister visit from some dark and evil madman this evening. Nothing within the Ministry happens that quickly."

Hermione airily gestured. "My obsessive planning has worked well for me so far."

Several strong locking charms clicked into place the moment the door closed. With one swish he levitated his boxes into the center of her living room, and with the next swish they resized themselves. Severus pulled the tiny tent from a pocket and handed it back to her.

Hermione smiled wistfully as she took it and placed it prominently on the mantle.

"We have such different memories of this tent," she said.

"I'm not particularly fond of it," Severus admitted.

"Me neither." She reached out and grabbed his hand, clasping it in his own. "But it's something we both share. I'd like to have more shared memories with you, Severus."

"A leaky tent and a horrific curse? I think given time, I can improve upon the situation." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"Good." She looked at him in a very steadfast manner which brooked no argument, in Hermione's fussy way. "You're mine now, Severus Snape, and no court will overturn that, so you'd better get used to me. I manage my affairs in a very orderly fashion. I like my cat, my books and my bubble baths. On Fridays, I have date night and I expect you to show up to every single date." The corners of her lips tipped up in that inexplicably kissable way that Severus' eyes tracked.

"Now that you're moving in, we may need to readjust boundaries. I'm not certain what all of that will entail, but we'll manage." She nervously moved her hands as if presenting a speech to a crowd, not standing on the carpet in her socks with Crooksy licking himself nearby.

"What else, Hermione?" Severus gently prodded.

Closing her eyes briefly, Hermione swayed from foot to foot, looking open and vulnerable. Her hair had unfolded with her, cascading down into a mess of tangly curls about her shoulders. They looked limp from illness, and she wore her gaunt pallor stretched across her skin, but there was still a spring left. Reaching out, Severus twisted his finger around a coil of hair that could not, nor would not, be denied. A rule breaking, misbehaving, untamed thread of wild hair that spun into a pretty curl. He smiled at her reckless hair.

"I'm not always easy to get along with," she admitted. "I have my eccentricities, and there are far too many of them to list." Her brow furrowed. "As much as I make them, I don't fit nicely into lists either. But…"

"But?" Severus asked.

"If you continue to make breakfast, I think we should get along well."

Severus leaned in and kissed her pouting lips, which were ever so much sweeter. Teasing her lips until she opened them with a sigh, he deepened the kiss, pouring himself and the depth of his feelings for her into the action until she _trilled_ in response. Hermione broke the kiss looking flushed and unfocused.

"Well, that was unexpected," she said, her breath warm and moist as it hovered just an inch above his. "I should order you to cook for me more often."

Severus smiled, earnest and genuine in his affection for her.

"Now, what shall we do with your boxes?" Hermione asked, worrying her lower lip.

The question held suspended between them, hovering in the air in the already cramped and tiny two bedroom flat. Severus swallowed the enormous stone that seemed lodged in the back of his throat. To admit he was ready to move into her bed was a step he wasn't certain he was able to take. It seemed too fast, too rushed. Perhaps he was out of step or too old fashioned. Though they'd traveled far and overcome so much together, it hadn't been long since he'd left Azkaban. They'd only spent a few short weeks testing their new relationship. He'd made demands on Hermione when he'd entered her life before, he wasn't about to make those same demands again.

"Wherever you would prefer would be fine," Severus answered, patiently awaiting her decision.

She held her breath and Severus could nearly see the formulation of her answer as readily as he could when she worked on a difficult potions equation. Testing and discarding ideas, weighing and measuring thoughts until coming up with an answer that harmoniously balanced all factors, coalescing and steaming together into a perfect, bubbling solution.

"Then I think it's high time Ron came and picked up his stuff," Hermione said with a determined nod.

"Ronald Weasley," Severus said with a growl.

Hermione rolled her eyes and headed for the second bedroom. They stood in the doorway and surveyed the modest accommodations. The ordinary bedroom would have sufficed except it held an extraordinary amount of Muggle gadgetry. A large couch dominated the room to take advantage of the obscenely oversized television. A bookcase of discs and films would ensure they had a century's worth of entertainment. And there were two computer desks.

"Oh honestly," Hermione said gesturing towards the room. "Do you really think all of this belongs to me? I told you, I prefer books."

The films were Ron's. The thought hit him like a Bludger upside his head. It went far to explain all the bloody shoot-em-ups and ninja flicks. He didn't know what was worse – that he hadn't figured it out before, or that he shared similar movie tastes with Ronald Weasley.

She pointed to the sleek white desktop, perched neatly in the corner. "That one is mine," she claimed.

Severus' eyes narrowed on the other desktop and immediately noticed what he hadn't seen before: filth, crumbs, a smear of what he hoped was mustard, and clutter. Lots of clutter. How had he missed the mark of Weasley?

"The gaming console belongs to him, too." Hermione made a disgusted face.

"There was a game?" Severus asked, feeling somehow as if he'd been immeasurably cheated.

"I didn't give you this room before because you didn't ask nicely," Hermione stated, whipping her wand out. "You were rude and unkind and overbearing. I understand now you were in a desperate situation and I'm sorry. I'm sorry you were dealt such a dirty hand; you didn't deserve to be in Azkaban." She flicked her wand at Ron's computer and it shrunk down to a miniature. "I'm also sorry I treated you shabbily. I should have done more for you than just offer a toilet."

"No," Severus quietly interjected. "I had no right to make demands upon your life. A vile contract should not give me claim to what's yours."

"You're right, our contracts are galling, both the ones that married us without our knowledge or consent and the one that released you from prison and bound me to a life-threatening curse." She reached out for his hand and grasped it. "But we can behave better towards each other."

They packed and boxed Ron's film collection and his games. Severus winced as Hermione shrank the beautiful television and hoped that nothing got damaged inside. Ron lived in a wizarding house and couldn't have Muggle technology inside. Crossing magic and electricity had a way of ruining semiconductors or something like that. Severus wasn't entirely certain what the problem was, only that after awhile there was an unhealthy burning smell and everything went skew whiff before it died. The room was packed up until all that remained was Hermione's large couch and computer desk. It looked positively barren.

"Will this be enough?" Hermione asked apprehensively. "I'm happy to move the computer into my room."

"That's not necessary," he assured her. "This will do quite nicely. Thank you."

"Right, well if you're going to unpack then I'll head in for bed. It has been a terribly long day and I feel exhausted." She smiled tiredly.

The cats came in and settled upon his newly made bed just as soon as Severus had transfigured the couch. He glared at them with his best patented stare, the one that made children quake and sniffle. The icy scowl that let rule breakers know an unholy amount of detention was upon their heads and no amount of Head of House intervention would save their precious hides. The mismatched orange and grey beasts did not give his stiff glower much consideration and continued to shed an obscene amount of fur on freshly laundered sheets. As Severus contemplated charming his new bed, Ushanka stretched her large huntress body, yawning wide and flashing vaguely threatening teeth before scratching at his bedding with her claws as if to lay claim to everything.

Severus stowed his wand and gave up on charming the bed as a bad job. "What's mine is yours," he muttered. "What's yours is mine, eh?" Crookshanks' golden eyes settled on him for a fractional moment before he returned to his job of pretending to sleep.

Hermione was still in the shower and Severus was settling his belongings into some semblance of order when there was a fissure in the wards. The cats sensed it first, their heads lifting in time together, as if scenting something in the air. Whiskers twitched as claws came out. Severus quietly set down the jar he was handling and picked up his wand. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood up like the cats' fur.

"Severus?" Hermione called distantly from within the shower. "Do you feel that? Something's…" Their wards split with a deafening crack. She shut the shower off.

He ran into the living room and assumed a readied pose. Shirtsleeves rolled up, knees and arms bent, eyes trained on the door, but skimming, tracking, prepared for an alternate attack.

"Wand!" Hermione cried behind him, distracting him for an instant as she ran around in a bath towel. "Where's my wand?"

"It's in your hand," he hissed.

"My other one!" Hermione shouted. She rummaged through the discarded clothing from the day looking for her second wand just as another layer was torn out of their wards.

Hermione joined him at his side, a double-fisted fighter in a fluffy peach towel with a grim set expression. Then came the sound of clattering nails as two cats shot past their legs and placed themselves at the door. Hermione glance briefly at Severus as the last hardened layer of wards fell into tatters with an ear-splitting snap.

"Whatever happens here tonight," Hermione said, her heart pounding within her chest. "I just wanted to say I love you, Severus."

"I love you, too," he answered, wanting to gather her up in his arms. Not knowing how many seconds they still had, Severus issued orders. "Don't be brave, Hermione. Apparate as soon as you can and get to Poppy."

There was a great rapping sound upon the door.

The knob turned as the latch gave. Severus had a spell readied on his tongue. The door opened…

The wizard who stood in their doorway, surveyed Hermione's flat with a sweeping dispassionate eye. He barely glanced at their readied wand stance, his lips only curdling in slight displeasure, but that might just as well have been a perfunctory gaze.

His loafers were Italian. Hand-lasted and pegged, with a quality built heel, made in the old style, because modern manufacturing didn't know how to produce true heels and after all, the phrase is _well-heeled_. Severus knew this random bit of trivia about the wizard standing in Hermione's doorway, not because he bragged. Malfoys never bragged; it was beneath their contempt to brag in front of the hoi polloi. They just enjoyed speaking about their pursuits.

The robes were bespoke, double pleats, loomed by some kind of double ring twill. As Severus begrudgingly lowered his wand, he recalled a lengthy and mind-numbing explanation of the miracles of the industry, which was completely lost on Severus, the son of a mill worker. Lucius leaned on the doorframe, wearing tailored charcoal pinstripe robes and a haughty smirk. He hadn't put a little toe of his fine Italian handmade loafers past Hermione's doorstep.

"Aren't you going to ask me in?" He drawled, in a way that suggested they lacked all manners. "I did knock."

"Hermione," Severus said. "I take back my 'melodramatic witch' comment. The dark and evil madman has just arrived."

Lucius wolfishly grinned and stepped inside, kicking their door closed with his well-turned heel. The cats were ready for their charge and Lucius' ankles faced gory doom until Hermione called them off the hunt. The pansy-faced monster yowled in protest, hissing and spitting at the intruder for good measure before seating himself on the hearth rug, ready to strike again, if necessary. Ushanka darted beneath the coffee table and glowered at the intruder. Severus knew Lucius wouldn't hesitate to hex a cat, but not before one did irreparable damage to finely knit silk trouser socks, which to a Malfoy was cutting enough.

"What a cozy little home you have here," Lucius said, sailing past Hermione, who still had not put down her wands. "My, my, it is perfectly domestic. This must be the dinner table…"

Wet-haired and fuming, Hermione glared at Severus as if Lucius' intrusion were entirely his fault. "What is with you people," she hissed. "Do you always invite yourself over and start going through other people's houses?"

"Me?" Severus blinked. "I have nothing to do with him."

"Ah!" Lucius exclaimed from within the kitchen. "This must be the pantry. How adorable. I've always wondered what tinned soup looked like."

Hermione shook her head. "Just get rid of him as soon as you can." She stalked off towards her bedroom and locked it with several tight wards.

Lucius reemerged from the kitchen, with a particularly smooth vintage of Ogden's 73 dangling from his fingertips. "I thought she'd never leave."

Severus eyed the bottle.

"Well?" Lucius asked, sliding it across their table. "Shall I get glasses? I think I spied some juice glasses in there. Mind you, they're not the correctly sized tumblers, and they have orange slices painted on them, but you were never one to stand on formalities, if I recall. So…" He left the word dangling between them.

Severus kept his eye on the bottle.

There were two ways of settling a dispute within Slytherin House. The most obvious and well-known way was to determine the ultimate victor during a long, bloody, and protracted blood-feud. These occasionally leaked over the generations and did a great deal to cull the cousins, which was helpful when waiting for a rich uncle to expire. The less dramatic way of settling things was to talk a problem out over a bottle of booze. If that failed, there was always the blood-feud to fall back upon. _So…_ Did Severus want to bury the hatchet with Lucius? He thought of this as he considered the bottle on the table.

Not particularly. He was rather fond of the status quo of disliking Lucius and had done so rather successfully for a number of years. He saw no reason to stop now, particularly given Lucius' notorious propensity to bury the hatchet in people's backs, which reminded Severus to ask how the Parkinson blood-feud was turning out, in case he ought to put in a small wager. _However…_ He was no longer a free man in all regards, there being the tiny matter of his dear wife in the next room, and her health and wellbeing possibly at stake. And Lucius, being Lucius, of course knew this, which meant he was already well and truly buggered.

At least there was always a blood-feud to fall back upon.

"Grab the goddamned glasses," Severus snarled, pulling out his seat at the table viciously.

Lucius smiled obligingly, happy to fulfill the role of host within Severus' house. He returned from the kitchen with two juice glasses and produced a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from within his robes. The table stretched between them just for a moment before Lucius grabbed the bottle to open it, a silent acknowledgment that he had done the first wrong. Lucius filled Severus' glass and handed it to him.

Severus eyed the liquor carefully. Not because he doubted the drink, he was past believing Lucius would poison him. And if Lucius did poison him – he was certain Hermione would be creative and matchless in her revenge. Nevertheless, he needed to understand exactly which grievance they were drinking to, because if they were starting at the beginning… well. Severus wasn't fully certain where the beginning was, but he knew there wasn't enough Firewhiskey contained within the bottle to cover it, nor was he confident of his ability to survive the night.

He held the glass up. "What's this for?" Severus asked bluntly.

"For the crude words I uttered upon your mother's death. She was a fine witch and not a filthy Muggle-lover," Lucius said stoically. Though to Severus' memory, the language Lucius had used had been much more coarse. "And I apologize; my comments were out of line."

Severus nodded and they drank. "What's next?" he asked.

"You owe me an apology for spilling some foul potions substance on my cream robes."

Severus choked. "What? When?"

"In April of 1980." Lucius looked quite affronted by the matter. "On the left sleeve. The stain never came out. I loved those robes."

"And I loved my mother." Severus stared hard at Lucius, waiting for him to yield, but he did not even blink. "Fine," Severus growled, pouring their cups. "I'll apologize for ruining your precious cream robes, which you loved as much as I loved my mother. But I'm drawing the line here. No more ridiculous apologies. Let's skip the trivialities. We have enough serious business to cover than the issue of laundry."

His lips pursed fractionally, as if he were weighing the merits of leaving the table. "They were Vitore robes from Bolzano. Don't call them trivial again."

Severus raised his glass. For the life of him he did not remember the occasion, nor did he remember the terrible fate of the beloved cream robes. In the life of a Potions master there was no use crying over split potions; wear black and get over it. "So they were. Very noble looking robes, if I recall," Severus lied. "And for ruining them, I am sorry. Drink." With the clink of empty glasses, the subject was put to rest.

Though Severus had insisted they keep to the important matters, Lucius' definition of what constituted important matters varied considerably from his own. A healthy quarter into the bottle, a curious Hermione emerged from her room in her dressing gown. She stayed up and watched the proceedings until she was too tired to watch, and left, muttering the faintest reprimand beneath her breath.

"No," Lucius said blurrily. "That was all Cissy. You can't blame any of Draco's nonsense on me." Swaying, he held his juice cup as if it kept him tethered to the earth. "If I had anything to do with it – no wait. That's the bloody point. I had nothing to do with it."

"You'd have kept him safe," Severus finished.

"Exactly so." Lucius nodded with a smile. He ruminated on memories of what might have been, with the ability to repaint history from within the imagination.

Severus had plenty of opportunity to extol every good deed he'd done on behalf of the family, but that just wasn't done. One didn't drink to bury good deeds. They were putting the blemishes of the past behind them. And to be fair, Lucius had done him plenty of good turns as well.

"So where does that leave us?" Severus asked, his words slurring with a thick tongue. The bottle sat before them looking anything but innocent.

Lucius rubbed his hand across his face, feeling his lips, which had by then gone quite numb. His nose too, if he were to be completely honest.

"Perhaps we should skip to the issue of your betrayal." His eyelids shuttered in the same way Crookshanks' did just before he pounced, though it was also just as likely he was getting ready to pass out.

Severus leaned forward, which was a generous description of collapsing against the elbows that kept him upright. "You're angry with me because I helped bring down the Dark Lord?"

Severus peered at the blond nutter. He knew of six times when Lucius had been Crucio'd so badly that he'd nearly gone full-Longbottom. Severus knew of this, of course, because he'd been the one to patch up the poor sod afterwards. Lucius had split a tongue, re-grown a shinbone, lost his hair, flayed his back, put his son in mortal danger, and spent time in Azkaban prison. All for the Dark Lord. And Severus was fully aware that the Malfoy family regretted every damn minute of joining the Death Eaters.

"You betrayed me," Lucius snapped. "You think I don't know Occlumency? We could have been working together for years. Instead you worked against me within our ranks and scored the greatest coup at the end."

His head sank into his hands as Severus tried to bundle his thoughts and memories together. "Would it help if I told you I'd talked to Dumbledore about approaching you because I thought you could be trusted. As expected, the suggestion went over like a lead balloon."

"I wouldn't have wanted him or his bumbling Order of Pricks either," Lucius sniffed, not bothering to hide his hurt pride.

"No, of course not," Severus muttered, filling Lucius glass. "Bloody-minded do-gooders, Gryffindors mostly. Opinionated, naturally. They tried to organize an entire war by committee meetings." The men shuddered around their glasses. "It's a wonder the final battle came at all." They drank deeply and with the finality of glasses banging on the tabletop, they put the issue to bed.

"Is there anything left?" Lucius asked blearily. There was still a quarter of petrol left in the tank, but neither of them was feeling particularly interested in chasing it. But Severus did have one pressing ill other than his bladder. He nodded gravely. It was a slumping nod, but he'd been waiting all evening for the opportunity.

"We sat in a holding cell together, awaiting our trials. Remember?"

"Oh, did we?" Lucius mumbled, trying vainly to create an affectation of ignorance as he reached for the bottle. "I don't recall such a thing." He poured their glasses.

"Stop being such a shit, Lucius," Severus growled, clasping his drink. "You were in for one day, just long enough to buy your way out and remind me that I couldn't."

"Oh?" His cheeks flushed a rosy pink as merriment danced in his eyes. "I still don't remember that happening. Those days were such a blur, but it does sound like me. And if so, brilliant."

"I spent years working for the Light, taking hits on both sides," Severus said bitterly. "And you waltz in at the last possible second with a _mea culpa_ and get just as much credit. Then when we're banged up together by the Aurors, you leave me stranded to fend for myself."

Lucius looked over the rim of his whiskey very seriously, nearly to the point where Severus questioned whether Lucius had taken a potion before he started drinking, but then started listing slightly to the right. "I never left you stranded. I paid that squirrely little bastard you hired to represent you in court extra because you obviously didn't have enough. Then, because I think of myself as a rather damned decent chap who pays my debts, I bribed the Wizengamot for you."

Startled wasn't the proper word for Severus' reaction. Shocked, mystified and bewildered nearly came close. He peered intently at the haughty lip-curling wizard, trying to fathom a whit of deceit from him, but found none.

"Really?" Severus asked feeling overcome with emotion. His voice cracked with honesty, which meant he'd consumed far too much alcohol than was good for any one Slytherin. "You bribed the Wizengamot for me?"

Lucius suffered from a bout of self-consciousness. "Well, not the whole Wizengamot," he conceded, bashfully. "I couldn't get that damned flying charge to drop." Lucius held his glass up high and cracked on. "I apologize for not buying off enough of those greedy sodding bastards in the Wizengamot. Never leave a man behind."

Severus drank to that.

With the last of their drinking business put behind them, the bottle went up and Lucius pushed the _Daily Prophet_ in front of Severus.

"Is this where you tell me you want me to work for you?" Severus asked, happy for the warmth of whiskey that took the growl out of his voice.

Lucius smiled thinly. "We could flip to the classified section and look at all the wonderful job opportunities where you could put in your application. I could even help you polish your resume." Lucius shrugged. "But you're only putting off the inevitable. You will come to work for me."

"Because of Hermione," Severus sighed. He knew as much and accepted it. His life was tied to hers and as long as the Dark Lord's clutches of eggs were scattered throughout Britain, he would see her project through to the end.

"Not necessarily. Actually, there's a dandy little rumor sweeping around the business community that you've been blacklisted from working and anyone who hires you will be audited for compliance." Lucius set his hands down on the table and sat back. It also appeared as if he was clutching the table to help him sit up straight.

"Blacklisted," Severus repeated. His heart stated pumping, speeding up as he fought a wave of nausea. He was going to get sick in a moment. Blacklisted, like a common werewolf. Reduced to picking up odd jobs, when he could find them. Working in back alleys and dark shops. No wonder the only person to offer him work was Borgin. "Does Minerva know?"

"Hogwarts is so isolated, and education is different than industry. It always has been," Lucius remarked. "So, it appears you have a problem, my friend."

"Yes," Severus hoarsely whispered.

"Contrary to my best efforts, you've been banged up. That dodgy place of yours wasn't much, but it was something. And the Ministry let it get demolished. Seems fishy. And you cannot find work. Those are the two basic requirements of Hermione's curse, are they not?" Lucius asked, blinking slowly. "It makes me question what might have happened to her if you had not come to her flat after leaving Azkaban. Ponder what her fate would have been if you'd taken up a temporary residence in a hotel room. It is a reasoned choice."

It had been his preference at the time. He didn't want to come knocking at Hermione's door with his hat in his hand. If there had been enough of Potter's Galleons in his pocket or anything left in his vault, he'd have gone to a hotel.

"She'd have died," Severus answered, unquestioningly. "Quickly too, given the way the curse advances."

And nobody would have known why.

Lucius pouted in the way he tended to muse over his thoughts while drunk. If Severus had any reason to suspect Lucius had taken a sobriety potion beforehand, they were dashed by the reality of his fish-lipped expression. Lucius never willingly made the face. "Then your relationship was not anticipated by your plotter." His head tilted back. "Regardless, Granger is a tolerable witch with a good head under all that hair. Good tits, too. I'm happy for you, Sev. And I'm happy to learn she's now on the mend. Give her my best when she awakens."

"I will." Severus nodded, in a way he ought not to do.

Lucius continued. "Someone has been very busy plotting against you in a rather elaborate way. I haven't had the entire day to think about the turn of events as they've been reported to me, but at first blush it looks like someone is trying to get you back in prison."

"That was what we concluded as well," Severus said.

"And barring that, Hermione dead," Lucius offered with working himself up. He drummed his fingers across the tabletop. "I dread this sort of thing, you know. With such ridiculously complex plans and machinations, you can feel that there's something more involved within this plot that we haven't figured out, but it certainly doesn't bode well."

Severus hummed thoughtfully but had no reply. What could he say? He was unable to anticipate the unknown.

"And it's just not done," Lucius concluded with finality. "Plotting and cursing brethren without involving the Slytherin network is bad form. I mean, how are we supposed to find out who's behind this?"

"None of them?" Severus' head snapped back. That felt like a punch to the stomach, which was also a reminder for a hangover potion and bed soon. It was impossible for Slytherins to keep a secret of this size, someone had to know. "Well," Severus consoled himself. "If it's not one of us behind it, then they can't expect any mercy."

"Thank god for that," Lucius agreed.

* * *

_Our foe crossed our heroes without blinking._

_Ravenclaws plot their vengeance by thinking._

_Gryffindors bluster._

_Hufflepuffs muster._

_But beware of two Slytherins drinking!_

Limerick by Morethansirius


	22. Chapter 22 Undress!

**Chapter 22 – Undress!**

Severus didn't know what time it was in the morning that he fell into bed, still in his shirt sleeves, only that it was early and that he had earned every drop of his Hangover Relief potion. He'd pushed Lucius' well-heeled arse though the Floo after some stiff words about respecting the boundaries of warding. Yes, they were challenging to break, and fun to show off that you could do that sort of thing, but Severus had a Missus now. Lucius would know all about having a Missus, and Missuses didn't like those sorts of things like breaking and entering. Having planted himself face-first into a pillow, Severus felt rather good about having the forethought to take his potion, but their wicked part-Kneazles ensured he slept knowing he'd spent the night drinking. They slept with him, moving him into yoga stretch positions for penance.

Precisely three and a half minutes after he fell asleep, Hermione stood up over him dressed in a pretty green dress, looking quite refreshed and lovely. The sun appeared to be fully up, which was incredible timing for three minutes, but who was Severus to argue with the miracles of science?

"How did you sleep?" she asked, sweetly.

Severus slurred something objectionable about the cats.

"Well, I slept great." Hermione twirled. Severus held his hand up over his eyes, in a stalwart attempt at holding back the sun. He peered at her through contracted eyelids. The sun rested on her halo of hair, which was a stunning crown of glossy curls, and a bit much, if Severus was to utter the truth. Her skin was glowing. Ye gads, she was suffering from the dewy, milk-smooth skin of the moisturizer model from the annoying Miss Hotentot's Potion Pots Youth Cream advertisements. The dark circles beneath her eyes were gone and her lips were full and pink. Unnaturally pink. Was that even healthy?

"I think it was because you moved in last night," Hermione said cheerfully. "Or, it could have been from the contract you signed." She held up a large ream of parchment that had been hiding behind her back.

"_Whu…_" Severus scraped at some drool and fought with the newly discovered sun to squint at the parchment she was holding. It did not mean he needed glasses.

"I'm fairly sure my curse is dormant again, although Madam Pomfrey will tell me for certain."

Hermione placed the contract within Severus' reach. He distinctly recalled his personal vow never to sign anything magical without first reading it fully and having a solicitor review it. Then again, Malfoy did get him drunk. Next time they drank to put away their grievances, he was going to start with the signing of the contract. Severus looked at its title. Yes, he had a strong suspicion he'd need to drink away grievances with Malfoy again.

**Ten Year Service Bond**

"So you did it, then?" she asked, her head tilting in a question. "You signed on with Malfoy to work my project."

_To end your curse._

But she wasn't nearly as interested in the mundane details of a foiled curse. Hermione Granger was a witch who moved forward and probably imagined chasing it to a rightful conclusion within a few days, because she couldn't be bothered with being held back by such a thing. Her project was all that mattered, achieving the end of what they started.

"Yes," Severus mumbled, struggling to sit up, which was difficult with the dead weight on his abdomen of a rather large ginger beast, which, by all accounts, was not going anywhere. "I signed with Malfoy to work your project." At least he hoped. There was no telling what he was doing within the pages of his contract. For all he knew, his newly indentured position within Malfoy Industries was Head House-elf. _Innovate and Achieve!_ "I also signed with him because I've been blacklisted within the business community."

Severus scrubbed at an eyelid.

Lucius Malfoy didn't take threats very well. And he had the best cooked books within the business. If the Ministry wanted to audit and inspect him and all of his subsidiaries over one employee, Lucius was more than happy to pull his political contributions and renegotiate contracts. There was, after all, a reason he got to carry a big-bastard swagger stick.

"You've been _what!_" Hermione's voice was shrill, and tested the limits of his Hangover Relief potion. "By whom?" she demanded to know, balling up her fists.

"Vague rumors," Severus answered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, for her voice had done what the sun in all its glory could not – he was fully awake now. "And the Slytherins know nothing."

"What do you mean, 'the Slytherins'?" she asked uncomprehendingly. "You're talking about a House like they're a few people."

Severus stood up and stalked to the bathroom intent on morning ablutions. If she wanted to follow, that was on her head. If she wanted to continue the conversation, he'd leave the door open for her. It was bound to happen sometime.

"Oh, my god," Hermione gasped as she glimpsed something she did not intend to, before running out to the living room. She continued the conversation from the relative safety of the couch.

"There are sixteen primary families within Slytherin," Severus stated around his charmed toothbrush. "All cousins, naturally. You get some variation thrown in every so often. It keeps things healthy, if you know what I mean, but Slytherin families stay Slytherin." He scrubbed and cleaned and worked a washcloth over his face. "It's not too hard to work the rumor mill when everyone is connected. None of the Slytherins are copping to it and, while some of them probably have it out for both of us, nobody wants to take on us and Lucius. At least not publically. And really, if you're not going to get credit for doing something, why do it?"

"I'm not sure if that makes sense," Hermione said. "You'd think secrecy would be central to any bright idea, which would mean not telling your cousins and all your housemates."

Severus stuck his head outside the bathroom. "Every time I think you'd make an outstanding Slytherin, you say something that makes me change my mind. Really, there's no hope for you, Hermione. In order to play the game, you have to concoct a really brilliant plan, enact said plan, be devious and cunning without being a bragging toe-rag Gryffindor about it, and be able to claim credit for your really brilliant plan, but still not get caught."

"Sounds tiresome."

"Gryffindor."

She waved him off. Hermione didn't care if he taunted her with such a word; she wore it proudly on her heart and her sleeve, like a lioness. "So, if our anonymous plotter isn't a Slytherin, what then?"

Severus reemerged from the bathroom, still in the rumpled clothing from the night before, and leaned against the wall. "Well then, we're fucked because I'm all out of ideas. Whisky?"

"I think not." Her nose wrinkled as she watched him take a slug.

"Hair of the dog," he muttered.

"It didn't bite me, remember?" Hermione attempted to scowl at him, but having recently stepped a foot out of the grave, her scowl lacked proper enthusiasm. "I wouldn't knock it too hard. We're expected at Hogwarts shortly."

Severus winced.

"Or would you prefer I abduct you again?"

He didn't answer that. Severus made breakfast, because there had been an agreement to do so with rough notions of domesticity thrown in. And sitting down with Hermione did feel good in all the right places, and vaguely domestic, if he was pressed to think about it too much. No longer bound to slurp down gruel, Hermione buttered her toast and spread an unholy amount of marmalade amount on top. Severus did not say a word, but he enjoyed the look of pure delight she wore as she crunched every bit.

"I have to go into work today." Hermione announced. Severus had been about to take the last bite of his runny egg. The yolk punctured and ran upon her pronouncement. "I'm so far behind, you have no idea how much work awaits me. Well, maybe some idea, then."

"I'm not comfortable with this, Hermione." He pushed away the remnants of breakfast. "It's too soon."

"What should I wait for? I'm not getting over a cold or an infection." She laughed. "I don't even have a single ache. I've got to get back to my site and check the traps. I have too many unaccounted-for snakes."

"You may want to check with Ron on that matter." He said drily, remembering the unique smell of barbequed snake.

"Again!" she shrieked, throwing up her hands. "If I've told him once, I've told him a thousand times, that doesn't help me. How am I supposed to know if a site is clear if he goes behind my back and kills them? And it's not like I can clear sites by saying _Accio Deadly Viper_!"

It was obvious Hermione was hunting for a good fight like a dog who'd dug up his favorite bone in the backyard and started gnawing on it again. Dark clouds were looming in over the horizon for the young ginger, as a fellow bloke who'd been down the path with women before, Severus could feel it in his bones. The thunderstorm would be furious. He didn't know why he was helping the Weasley, by redirecting the conversation. Perhaps it was because of some niggling little feeling bit of charitability for sharing sarnies and fighting snakes together, or perhaps it was nothing at all. Severus always preferred peace, and abhorred sworn vengeance and bloodshed at the breakfast table. It was the other reason Dumbledore had to reseat him at the end of the High Table within glowering distance of all instead of a targeted few.

"I had a thought, actually," he forestalled the coming tirade in a quiet tone. Hermione had to lean in to hear him. "About ley lines and vortices of power. I've been pondering whether your nests are laid out according to a geographical plan."

"The blood markers, yes." She attempted to wave him off, still steaming over Ron. "We thought as much. It makes sense that they're all connected. And we looked into that months ago. I thought we had something plotted out for a while because it all did connect, but there wasn't anything there. We roamed around for ages and came up empty handed. It was all very disappointing. So we're back to the beginning and nests only appear once they've started the hatching process."

Severus sat back, processing this new information. He'd known that Pettigrew's diary was vague. Not because it had been heavily encrypted by some kind of secret shorthand, but because Pettigrew was a lazy note taker and really had been a shambling idiot. They'd known the location of the first hatch site due to a scrawling entry about the process of creating the nest near the old Prewitt farm. And he'd helped himself to some melons which were growing wild and spilt some juice on the margins. From thereon, the process of making hatch sites became de rigueur and locations were less specific. When Hermione and her team arrived at the hatch site, the nest was fully exposed. They'd come too late. They burned the nest, the farm, the countryside and hunted the outer perimeters. Just before they could lift mugs to a job well done, far across the fields, the entire Flint family was bitten in their farmhouse.

"We're always reactive." Hermione shook her head. "I have procedures for finding a closed nest, but it's never happened. Xerxes can't figure it out either. He knows other clutches are there."

Severus started. "Xerxes?"

"Yes of course." Hermione tilted her head to the side. "I did say 'we.' Who did you think I was talking about? He's my assistant. And he's probably very cross with me right now; I really owe him a treat. Something good. Maybe a small rabbit."

Severus put his palm to his forehead and rubbed at the creases. His wife had once asked – on her deathbed, mind – not to judge her too harshly. He'd taken those words carefully into his heart and promised until the day he died, that he'd never judge her too harshly, because he was a man who'd been weighed, judged, and found lacking many times and by many people who weren't worth a dirty Sickle. He realized this was one of those times when he needed the virtue of clarity, understanding and tolerance. But… he'd always been short on those.

"Are you mad?" Severus asked, thumping the table. "He's a bleeding snake. And you can't trust those, believe me. I'm a Slytherin. He's your _Assistant!_" Severus spat the word, every syllable enounced to perfection. "No. I forbid it. I'm your husband. I forbid it."

She leaned in close. "What are you going to do, Severus? Put your foot down?"

"If I must." He nodded resolutely. The line had to be drawn.

It was the argument which would forever shape how arguments would proceed within the household.

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "You've put your foot down. He's no longer my assistant."

A stony quiet settled over the table. Severus felt good about his position. And having asserted some authority. And having won his first argument with a woman. That was when the moment of doubt began to creep in. It crept into the creases at his forehead.

"Why is he your assistant?" Severus asked.

"Why _was_ he my assistant, you mean?" Hermione blinked and feigned looking guileless. "He acts as liaison to the ones I can't communicate with and keeps them in line. He's a damn fine tracker; Xerxes is much better at spotting snakes than you or I. And I need all the help I can get. Ron's hardly ever around. Arthur is clueless. Harry's too busy. And Minerva is not fit to do field work. You really don't think I do everything by myself, do you? I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"What does he want with the job?" he said testily, his suspicions raised.

"Dominance. For a Naga, that is the name of the game. The more clutches we can put into permanent stasis means less competition for him. You can't get to become King of the Snakes with all of them lurking about. Once he's done here, I think he's taking his followers and heading to wherever his kind gathers to compete for more dominance."

"You are mad," Severus repeated. "You'd allow him to do that?"

"Why not? He's not a bad snake." Hermione glared at him. "He'd probably make a very good King of the Snakes. And this is their way. They don't belong in Britain; they don't even belong among people."

Like lightning, memory struck him: _Xerxes had called Hermione a kindred spirit._ Hermione was a witch who believed nurture was more important than nature. She'd treated her snakes kindly and had given them the vivariums that they preferred. She had doted on them with field mice and rabbits and if he knew her, a load of Gryffindor cheerfulness. God save them all.

Hermione sighed. "But, I suppose I should learn to get along without him and work in the encampments without his protection. I hope I'll be able to manage it alone."

Severus swore. Under the pretense of wiping her lips, Hermione smiled.

When they arrived at Hogwarts for Hermione's check-up, there was no sign that she'd had the entire back portion to herself. The scaffolding had come down. The beds were set to rights. And Mr. Levy and Miss Clark were laid up sick with a case of the Ramsquizzles. Poppy bustled toward them as soon Hermione entered the Infirmary. She did not appear amused, and Severus wondered if a new "Worst Patient Ever" was about to be crowned. Severus smirked.

Her wand flashed, but before it arched for a diagnostic test, it was pointed under his nose.

"I warned you, Severus Snape, if you ever snuck out of my Infirmary again I'd box your ears in and dangle you by your feet from the rafters. And now you've gone and passed along your bad habits to Miss Granger?" she stormed. "Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable, young man." Her wand shook with barely restrained fury.

"But I didn't…"

"Don't you dare deny it," Poppy scolded. "I have heard it from you for over thirty years and I am in no mood to hear it again. Patients can leave only when I discharge them. Do you understand that?" She looked at him with a fierce glint.

"I…" Severus started. He opened his mouth to defend himself. Poppy's eyes narrowed at him. "I understand," Severus nodded. "It was unacceptable for Hermione to discharge from the Infirmary without your approval."

"And don't you forget it." She held his eyes for two beats before turning to Hermione. She smiled broadly. "My dear, don't you just look like the very picture of health? Here, let's help you up on a bed and check your vital signs."

Hermione was the picture of health. Her vitals were strong and clear. No longer bruised and necrotic, the curse sigil reflected her changed condition. It looked like a few simple loops, not at all frightening, and it glowed with a subtle shimmering light.

"I'll be happier once it's gone for good," Hermione confided, looking up. "But for now, I'm satisfied that it's dormant."

Severus couldn't agree more, and both women seemed pleased with her condition.

"You don't think it would be too much trouble if I went to work today?" she asked casually.

Poppy spun and poked a finger at Severus. "This is your doing, isn't it? Severus Snape, you have corrupted her. How could you?"

"Oh, bloody hell," he grumped. "Shall I get the switch, woman, and you can beat me properly then?" When it was evident that glaring was getting him absolutely nowhere, and that Poppy had perfected a stern glare of her own and would not be cowed by him, he gave up. Grumbling under his breath about mad witches and their sharp, pointy fingers, he let himself out of the Infirmary. As he strode out, Pox offered him a sympathetic look.

Hermione tottered out a few minutes later looking a bit humbled.

"She didn't approve of your ideas," Severus surmised.

"Not a single one," Hermione answered morosely.

"Don't worry," he said in a gentle voice, intending to comfort her. "You'll do whatever reckless misdeeds you have in that head of yours anyway, and I'll still get blamed for it. It's all right. I'm accustomed to it."

"Probably." She shrugged. "I usually get away with whatever I want."

As soon as they were clear of Hogwarts, they Apparated straight to their flat, arriving at a distance and trudging together the last few steps to the door to unlock the wards. Severus struggled with the concept that it was now 'their' flat. It had always been Hermione's. Apparently, she seemed to be of a similar mind.

"I think," Hermione said apprehensively, speculatively eyeing the yet-unpacked boxes within Severus's bedroom, "that we ought to work together to settle the flat. I'd rather that we lived together instead you only having this bedroom."

Bereft of a proper response, Severus nodded. He'd never owned much furniture. At Hogwarts he didn't have need. Professors were provided with the 'Hogwarts Standard Issue' and Severus saw no reason to deviate from the plan by spending good Galleons. But there had always been the rocker. The padded Victorian rocker had lulled Snape babies to sleep for generations, and Severus had had more of his share of restful nights before the fire in it. Currently, it was charmed a deep green. Severus resized the miniature rocker and watched Hermione's face light up in delight.

"You don't have to keep the color," he said hastily. "It was pink originally."

"Nonsense." Hermione swished and flicked her wand to arrange furniture. A perfect spot was found for the rocker near the hearth, where it stuck out like a sore thumb.

Hermione decorating tastes ran towards the light creams and pastels, and Severus' color palate was already well established. A clash was imminent.

"It will all come together," she said resolutely. "You'll see. It will be… _eclectic._"

"Oh?" Severus asked incredulously. "Is that the word for it?"

She pounced on his stuffed raven, though Severus was at a loss to explain why she wanted the bird. She happily perched it on top of her bookshelves and demanded icky things in glass bottles for the bookshelves as well. Severus obliged. Though the majority of his icky things were actually dried figs, dates, apricots, pomegranate seeds, candied ginger or sour cherries suspended in either brandy or vodka, although they did look rather nasty to the untrained eye. He also offered her the other trinkets that caught her eye.

The cats wisely hid under the bed.

Severus did proudly note he had a very nice antique Floo Powder box. It wasn't worth a fortune, but it was rather handsome. And for the first time, Hermione's Floo Powder box sat above the Floo. Severus thought he'd make a proper witch of her after all.

A few of his sconces were added to the walls. And he had candles. What wizard didn't have a millennium of burning candles? But next to her collection of girlie candles, who could tell? Hermione seemed satisfied with their flat makeover, and that was what mattered.

For dinner, Severus brought back curry to the flat. As he deeply inhaled the warm scent of a satisfying Tikka that burned soul-deep, he felt the subtle shifting of his world. Severus filled Hermione's glass with wine and raised his own.

"My beautiful bride, you've given me so much more than a home." _You are my home,_ he knew with sudden clarity. All the boxes and trinkets felt distant and insignificant; without Hermione he would be more alone that he'd ever been in the dark pit of the dungeons. He'd found his place in life. Severus cleared his dry throat, shaking away the choking emotion that had crept up on him to finish his toast. "May the best of your past be the worst of your future."

Her eyes glimmered, reflecting the soft light in the room, which probably made him a sop for noticing, but his Hermione was utterly lovely to him. She smiled and drank to the toast. They tucked in to the best meal either could remember ever having.

With Hermione in the kitchen washing up, Severus took the opportunity to sneak a glance at his contract with Lucius. Most of the first pages were fairly standard boilerplate. He flipped through as fast as he could. For some unaccountable reason, he didn't want Hermione to know how well he'd been shafted. Or that he'd signed another damned contract without reading it. Or that he didn't know what the hell he was doing. Or how stinking drunk he'd been.

Finally, he found the meat and potatoes of his agreement several pages in.

**Position Title: **Assistant

**Critical Elements: **Duties as Assigned

**Pay: **Direct Draft to Gringotts

"Fuck," Severus moaned beneath his breath, hastily closing his paperwork. "I _am_ a bleeding House-elf."

"Did you say something, Severus?" Hermione asked emerging from the kitchen, looking just as fresh and pretty as she had that morning.

He opened his mouth, ready to answer in the manner to which all men who've just taken on the husband mantle respond and say, "It's nothing, dear." But something held his tongue.

Perhaps it was the arched look she gave him, as if she already knew. He was nothing but a rule-breaking miscreant caught out, and she already knew all his secrets, and only had to cop to them. Or perhaps it was because after holding her hand on her deathbed only days before, the memory of her fragile hand was still indelibly marked into his psyche. And he could not further lie to her. Or maybe, after all these years he was finally growing up. At least in this respect, he still retained the right to get pissed and scrawl filthy words and crude drawings on public billboards.

He held out his contract with Malfoy. "This damn thing." Severus sighed. "It's a total cock-up. I signed away ten years of my life to work for him – which I'd gladly do again – for you. And it's as vague and slippery as the man himself. I do believe he had Beelzebub write it."

"May I?" she stepped closer, and took the contract from his hand with a worried look upon her face. Hermione hummed thoughtfully as she flipped through the pertinent parts. "I think," she said speculatively, "This is meant to be obscure. If Lucius is taking a gamble by hiring you because he knows he may get audited, ambiguity is good. It also protects the integrity of our project."

"When the auditors show up, shall I sweep the chimneys?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps. You know Malfoy far better than I do. He wants you to work on the anti-venom project. Who is he more likely to screw over? You or Ministry auditors?"

She was absolutely correct. He did know Lucius. In which case, he'd found a way to screw both him and the Ministry. Oh, Lucius would only bend or stoop to strike below the belt, but those blows were saved for the Ministry.

"Thank you, I feel vastly relieved," Severus said humbly.

"Silly boy. You got all worried over something that's probably nothing." Hermione breezed back to the kitchen.

"That's 'man'," Severus grumbled. "_Silly man._ I haven't been a boy in ages."

Even though it wasn't a particularly cold or blustery night, he stoked up the fire because he was home now, and it felt right. Severus took a thick yellow document folder out of his room; the contents were magically sized, charmed to expand as necessary.

"I think it's time we had a look through these contracts for ourselves," he said, as Hermione joined him.

The wine followed shortly thereafter, because nothing was as certain as the need for liberal lubrication in the face of legal fecundity. Perched on the sofa, Hermione tucked her feet underneath her and eyed the stack of contracts with open displeasure. Severus added a healthy measure of dry red to her glass. She leaned forward and gasped the first offending piece of parchment from the top. It easily tripled in length under her touch.

"Magical Betrothal," she enunciated clearly, her lips pressed thin. "I suppose this is where it all began. I might as well start reading here." She tasted the wine to clear the lingering bitterness out of her mouth.

Severus began working on their Marriage Contract, but stopped reading minutes later when Hermione jumped off the couch. She returned to bring a steno pad and quills for note-taking, and for the next several minutes, the silence was punctuated by the sound of a wet quill being dragged at forceful speeds across paper.

"You know," Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm looking again at the six Wizengamot members who signed our betrothal document. Albus is the seventh signature. And there are some very prominent names attached. It makes me wonder if there's an implication about having Wizengamot members. I mean, why not ask Remus or Minerva to sign?"

Severus lowered the contract he was working on and gave her a patented stare. "Do you honestly believe Lupin or McGonagall would willingly get roped into this charade?"

"Fair point," Hermione conceded. "I'm just curious if there's an aspect that we're overlooking. A full court of Wizengamot members is thirty. Six signed our marriage documents; that's not a majority, but it's still impressive. You were sent to prison by the Wizengamot. And your paperwork altered, and the only people with the clearance to alter it work in the…"

"Wizengamot," Severus finished for her in a tone of finality. "Let's see these names." Curiously he wondered which Wizengamot members Lucius had been unable to bribe.

Hermione handed over her steno pad.

"Judith Corner is dead. So is Gwent Dearborn. Fesibert Fenwick lives as a Muggle. And Eunice Plumfield gave up her seat after the war." He crossed them neatly off her list, then as an afterthought, crossed Albus Dumbledore off the list. "In Azkaban, the lives of Wizengamot members is a frequent topic of conversation," he admitted reluctantly.

"So, that leaves us Elphias Doge and Harlan Snodgrass." Hermione stroked her quill against her cheek. "What if it wasn't a coincidence that we pulled Snodgrass for our annulment?"

"A conspiracy theory?" Severus arched an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"Thus far, it's all been a conspiracy," Hermione grimly stated. "Seven Wizengamot members put these elaborate documents together. And our marriage was meant to be dissolved."

"Before we ever found out we were married," Severus postulated.

"Albus died," Hermione continued.

"Obviously."

"And instead of dissolving our union as planned, the six other Wizengamot members decided to keep it going," she concluded. "And I'm sure it's not because we're such a love-match."

Severus nodded, his eyes narrowing down into a tight focus. "They worked hard to keep our marriage out of sight by locking me in Azkaban. Although as a member of the Golden Trio, you're fairly untouchable."

"I wasn't going crazy though," Hermione defended. "There was an occasional clerical error on my taxes and when I renewed my Apparition license, but I had no idea I was married."

"I believe you." Severus nodded. "Gringotts is Goblin territory. It's beyond their reach. The moment I spotted it there, I knew it wasn't a mistake. If I hadn't had to reestablish my vault, I'm not certain how long it would have taken me to uncover our marriage."

"So, their goal has been to keep us married and ignorant. But of _what?_ What are we missing?" Hermione said exasperated.

"I suppose that's the million Galleon question."

Hermione flipped through her documents, waiting for an answer to spring magically forth from the pages. The contract yielded terrible syntax. They tortured the passive voice and stopped randomly to pile on dreadful amounts of honorifics. There was a thoroughly mesmerizing quantity of the words _wherefore, whencefore, and thereupon_. And she was dazzled by the stunning force of bullshit. She had no idea so much crap could be strung out over so many pages and yet say so very little.

…Unless she was missing the point entirely.

"They signed both of these contracts on the same day, in the Headmasters office," Hermione grumbled. "What I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall that day."

"I suppose we could always try asking Albus. He may just natter on about candies, but there is a chance he could give up his secrets, particularly if he finds out one of his grand machinations has gone tits up," Severus mused.

That was the problem of being a master manipulator and pulling all the strings. Occasionally the strings broke. If Albus had thought he could dictate the future from beyond the grave, he was in for a short and painful lesson. Fate dealt her own cards. People had their own agendas. And sometimes life got in the way. There had been a moment, several loud heartbeats actually, when Severus nearly hadn't hurled his killing curse at Albus. It would have toppled all of his grand plans for Harry. But Severus had stayed the course. He always stayed the course. To the bitter end.

"Or," Hermione piped up, having seized upon a new thought. "We can try the Slytherin network."

"Oh?" Severus asked, his brow furrowing up.

"I happen to have a fondness for Headmaster Black, but please don't mention it to him," Hermione confessed, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

She raised the glass of in her hand and swirled it around, watching the light catch the ruby colored hues within. The vintage claimed it had amber pear notes and hints of dry summer peach from the Tuscan hillsides. She had serious doubts about the nobility of the wine, but it was good, and as she drank, Hermione dreamed of revenge. After all, she had two names.

* * *

_No longer a damsel in distress,_

_A glass is raised to future success._

_With schemes unwinding,_

_Curses unbinding,_

_Now fangirls just want them to undress!_

Limerick by ApollinaV and Morethansirius


	23. Chapter 23 Dumbles

**Chapter 23 - Dumbles**

Severus slept comfortably in a bed he probably had no rightful claim to, placed there by intrigues beyond anything he'd fathomed, and found his night's sleep more than satisfactory. He clasped his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling. Whoever had set them up had miscalculated the Granger factor. Severus wasn't accustomed to predicting the force of her moods either, only that he was glad to be on her side.

Incorrigible, his wife was reasonably pragmatic, generally responsible, and typically sensible, given that she was not prone to jump to conclusions so much as she followed her research down to its natural, logical conclusion. Severus could deal with and understand that side of his wife because he could identify the swotty condition within his own behavior. No, the vortices of power erupted and caused Arithmantic equations to funnel out of shape when her Gryffindor hackles were raised. Its unpredictable nature often led to Draco sniffling quietly in his office, tussling with Death Eaters, and SPEWing on house-elves.

In short, she was full of inconsistent consistencies. It kept him on point, and Severus found he rather enjoyed the challenge. Although he considered that those who had stitched them up may not come to share the same opinion. Ah well, he thought, it wasn't as if he'd take pity.

Severus decided to allow her to choose how to mete out vengeance. He'd dispatched Romilda. And he knew from those god-awful Centaurs that Hermione was more than capable of being ruthless. Because when one leads a woman out into the forest and calls an entire herd of Centaurs to cart her off, you damn well know what's going to happen to the woman. Severus would offer guidance if asked, but he would leave it in her hands. He wanted to let her have her satisfaction, whatever shape that took. From Nagini's serpents, he'd learned the depth of her generosity and kindness to creatures that would otherwise kill her, and had been impressed. And Severus knew if he took away her ability to offer mercy it would forever complicate their marriage.

From the other side of the paper thin walls, Severus heard Hermione's shower run. "I guess that means I ought to make breakfast," Severus said to Ushanka. Nestled in the warmth beside him, she did not bother to raise her head in response, but she meowed in protest when he left the bed. Severus got dressed and Ushanka remained curled up and sleeping. "Is that it?" he asked. "No good morning?"

"One of these days I'm going to make a hat out of you," he grumbled, sweeping from the room.

Ushanka cracked her eyes at the old threat and purred.

The table was set and waiting when Hermione sailed into the room in high spirits. Severus lifted an eyebrow as he lifted his coffee cup.

"I don't think this day could get any more perfect," she announced, settling herself with a smile.

"Oh?" he asked. Intrigued by the way she stabbed her knife into the jam pot, twisting it heartily and smearing her toast with a stain of red. "What has given m'lady so much pleasure?"

She glanced up from underneath her lashes coyly. "Well, I feel like I'm on this great precipice. Everything within me is telling me that we're so near to having all the answers. And it's a wonderful sensation. I love smashing other people's toys." Her smile was beatific. "It's so much more satisfying than when I nabbed the top academic spot from Draco."

Severus didn't need to ask which year she'd done it. Hermione had taken the top seat every year. Even when Lucius intervened to award him points for his extracurricular prowess on the Quidditch field. She reached across the table and held out her hand. Severus took it and was thankful to feel strength within her bones, a firm, warm grip returning his.

"And best of all, I got you out of this." She squeezed his hand. "Do I still get to keep you?"

Severus stumbled, trying to think of an appropriate response. In general, he was smooth and confident in his speech, but Hermione had robbed him of his ability to formulate an answer that didn't sound trite or ridiculous on his own tongue. He settled for returning her squeeze and mumbling, "Always."

Blushing, she shyly ducked her head and grinned at her plate as she greedily tore into her breakfast with a vengeance.

After they had readied themselves, Severus and Hermione showered their cats with affection and left for Hogwarts. Like any day, the castle loomed impressively on the horizon, with an appropriate smattering of grey Scottish clouds forecasting drizzle and winds for the afternoon. Bordered by forests dark and foreboding, their shadowed secrets were curiously inviting for those fond of exploring. Flanked by a wide green and deep lake, Hogwarts could be mistaken for yet another imposing castle. Until one peered closer. Together they ambled toward the castle, enjoying the fresh morning chill.

As they entered the school, children enthusiastically rushed from the Great Hall, tucking rolls and pasties into their pockets. Exams were coming, but most students were excited about the prospect of summer and were eagerly making plans. The Headmistress McGonagall met them in the corridor outside her office.

"Was there a meeting I missed?" she asked primly.

"No of course not, Headmistress," Hermione answered. "Actually, we would like to see if we could speak to one of your portraits."

Her lips pursed together in a disapproving line. "Ah. So you just blow in and out of here like it's the come and go room, Miss Granger. You only bother to stop by when you need us. I should hope this time you might stay long enough to report on your condition, after we were so worried for you."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said properly chastised.

Severus held his smirk. Poppy might have been fooled by her mischief-making antics, but Hermione was completely transparent to the Headmistress.

The door to her office opened to admit them. "All right, you two," she said, waving them up. "But I expect to hear all the details."

Assuming her position of authority, Minerva headed towards her desk as they wandered into the office. It had changed a great deal over the years, and yet it more or less had stayed the same. Dumbledore's chirping, winding, and clicking knickknacks were gone, tucked away into places unknown. Severus had barely deigned to touch the space, knowing that he was a temporary placeholder. Minerva had placed a few new rugs on the floor, moved a lamp and added a few more cushions. A slumbering barn owl rested on Fawkes' perch. But otherwise, everything was as it should be, and Hermione thought in a century it would still look fairly unchanged.

The Headmistress pivoted to face the gently slumbering old man above her desk. "Well, I suspect I shall have to wake him."

"Actually," Hermione interrupted. "We're not here to talk with Dumbledore."

Severus caught Albus' eyelids flutter in surprise.

Hermione smiled wickedly and pointed over Severus' shoulder. "I want him."

Headmaster Black did not appear to take the news very well. He crossed his arms, and sourly huffed. "Why does she always get to make demands? _Hmmm?_" His voice rose to a high nasally pitch. "I have never seen any student or alumnus make this much trouble. Well, whatever it is you want, little witch, I'm not doing it. I've had just enough of you." He turned and looked away, but didn't leave his frame.

Internally, Severus rolled his eyes. If Headmaster Black really had wanted nothing more to do with them, he'd have left his frame and gone elsewhere. But no, he'd stayed. He wanted to be cajoled into helping. He was obviously needed for some reason, which meant there was the possibility of some good ego-stroking to be handed out. And a fine Slytherin would not pass up the opportunity to be sweet-talked by the well-known heroine, Hermione Granger. She'd probably just made his decade.

"Oh please, Phineas. I have reason to believe that there's been a terrible plot against Severus and me by evil non-Slytherins." Hermione's eyes widened theatrically. Frankly, Severus thought she was piling it on rather thick with the shiny golden shovel. _Evil non-Slytherins?_ But Black was keenly rapt in attention, as were all the portraits who leaned forward, eager to hear her tale of woe. Two Galleons said the portraits in the Library were already listening in. "And I'm so afraid you may be one of the only portraits who could know why. You must help me. I've already been cursed, and Severus was sent to Azkaban on faulty charges."

He grimaced. There was stretching the truth. Bending the truth. And then playing a merry Albus Dumbledore with the truth. She was sitting squarely in the latter category. His criminal charges hadn't been faulty. _You only apologize after you get caught._

"Is there nothing I can say that could persuade you to believe me?" she implored him. "Or are we doomed?"

Her lower lip jutted out and began to tremble. Severus had seen better theatrics of course; they involved snotty nose, blotchy eyes, quivering, shaking, and hysterics. Usually around grade-grubbing season. And it was a damned good thing Miss Granger had never attempted her amateur play-acting on him or else he would never have been able to abide her as a wife. But either the portraits were a light touch or had been out of the classroom for too long. They were buying it. Eating out of her hand. It was nauseating, really.

Dilys was the first to crack. "But you can't let her cry. Do something, Phineas Nigellus; you can't be such a heartless monster." There were hearty cheers in agreement.

"Yes, Phineas. As Headmistress of Hogwarts, I order you to answer her questions," Minerva added firmly. "I, too, would like to know what's taken place within my school." A none-too-subtle look of reproving was shot towards Dumbledore's slumbering form.

Headmaster Black tutted and made a rather good show of looking put out by the intrusion, but his theatrics were just as melodramatic; it was obvious he was burning with curiosity to know what had brought them knocking at his gilded frame. "Get on with it then, girl. Ask what you've come to ask. Don't keep me waiting all day."

Hermione swallowed with great difficulty and balled up her fists. "I know that one evening, approximately seven years ago, Professor Dumbledore and six esteemed members of the Wizengamot gathered in this room to sign a Betrothal and Marriage contract marrying Severus Snape and myself."

Pouting slightly, Phineas asked, "Well, if you know all that, what do you need me for?"

Hermione's voice became terse and strained, revealing that perhaps beneath the put-on pantomime, she really was coming to the end of her chain. Severus moved closer, hovering just behind her shoulder for support. "I need to know _why_."

Suddenly, Phineas' eyes lit up, for he finally understood the frazzled little witch's quandary. "Why does anyone do anything these days?" he asked sophically, giving his lace cravat a quick flick. Then with a gentle shrug of his shoulders, he answered, "To make gold."

The daubs of gesso glittered in candlelight, giving Phineas Black a devilish mien. "What? Do you think the Order of the Phoenix survives on magic alone? It's supported by bribes and back-door dealings just as much as its opposite number. Headmaster Dumbledore had to ensure the Order would be well funded with gold until the Final Battle took place by creating a trust. I should think few knew of his penchant for manipulating stock markets. He chose his favorite stocks based upon their names and if they had pretty emblems. But everything had to be done with extreme caution; there's no way to launder anything through Hogwarts with Death Eaters on the Board and inside the Ministry."

A cold, shudder traveled along her backbone, sending shivers out across nerve endings until she trembled in her shoes. Hermione turned mutely to Severus, her eyes large and panicked, the shifting soil of emotion pulling her from bald curiosity to panic. What had they gotten into? Turning into his arms she whispered into Severus' ear, "Bribery? Corruption? Laundering? This is so much worse than I feared. It will be traceable back to our names, Severus. Men with power don't go to jail easily. They have patsys for that. _We're the patsys!_"

"Ssshhh" he murmured quietly. Kissing her forehead gently, he looked into her eyes and said, "We haven't lost yet." Hermione took his warm hand in hers. Severus was the rock of Hogwarts, and with his support they were unbreakable.

She turned back around and said, "I don't understand how money laundering is possible."

"You should remember your history, girl." Headmaster Black looked positively smug as he chastised her. "Cromwell? Law of Reconciliation 1655: _whatever contracts are made in the wizarding realm will be enforceable in the Muggle realm_. Terrible idea to jump into Muggle dealings, and I would have told them all too, but nobody bothered to ask my opinion, and just look what happened. But of course, Albus couldn't have asked for better identities than in the two of you. You're both born with Muggle birthright paperwork to your names. There's nothing to forge."

"So Headmaster Dumbledore used our Muggle identities to launder money," Hermione said, feeling peaked. Many wizards had sought their fortune in the Muggle realm and had struck it rich. With a wand and basic Charms or Arithmancy, it was easy to turn a quick fortune. Not getting caught was an entirely separate matter; most wizards had no real comprehension of the Muggle legal system. "That doesn't explain why he married us."

"Ah." Phineas Nigellus smiled genially. It was the sort of smile Gringotts goblins wore as they offered loans with low interest rates and promised excellent terms. Pausing to ensure he had the chamber's full attention before delivering his oration, he said, "One never goes looking for something they don't know exists. If your marriage is truly concealed, how would you ever know to probe under the name Hermione Snape?"

She gave Severus' hand a squeeze. "Oh my goodness. The accounts are under Hermione Snape. I think I've got a good grasp of it now." Turning to Severus, she looked into his brightly burning dark eyes. "Dumbledore gathered people in the Wizengamot who were loyal to the Order and willing to sign the document. He chose them because they could be trusted to execute the estate after he died by dissolving the marriage when the Final Battle took place and dividing the funds. Except they didn't…"

"No," Severus continued, picking up her thread. "They were so loyal to the Order they kept the trust going," he stated drily. "I'm sure having ready access to funds is a minor detail."

"Wizengamot members were chosen because they had the legal authority to annul your marriage," Phineas interjected in a peevish voice, pouting now that he was no longer the center of the conversation.

"Hermione Snape. God, I hope I paid my taxes. So this has nothing to do with revenge against me or retaliation against Severus. It's just about greed."

A loud snuffle caught their ears and they turned towards the disturbance which was located in the portrait above the mantle. Stretching both arms and yawning, Albus Dumbledore made a rather good show of waking up from a long and restful slumber.

"Oh hullo, my boy. So good to see you there." He blinked slowly as if taking in the room for the first time. "And Miss Granger! Wonderful for you to stop by. I wish I had some lemon drops to offer –"

"Albus!" Minerva called out, turning swiftly to his portrait with her wand steadily pointed to the frame. "Don't you dare. I think it's time for your nap."

"I just woke up from some of the most delightful dreams. I dreamt of true love." His gaze never left Hermione, who instinctively moved in front of Severus to protect him. Albus smiled at as if he was rather proud of his match-making scheme.

"Then go back to sleep and dream some more." Minerva's warning tone was icy and not meant to be trifled with.

"I think I have everything," Hermione said. "Perhaps we ought to be going. Professor McGonagall, as always, thank you for your hospitality. I'll make an appointment to come back later in the week to catch up."

"I'd like that very much, Miss Granger."

Fingers still linked together, Severus and Hermione started for the door.

"Oh Miss Granger," Albus called after her. "I'd like very much the opportunity to catch up with you as well."

As she exited, Hermione flipped him a rude gesture.

Hermione strode across the green lawns with purpose, shoulders straightened back squarely, her short legs carrying her swiftly towards the school's iron gates. All things considered, the witch nearly had her billow mastered. It was enough to make Severus feel a touch of pride. Glancing down at her determined gaze, he asked, "You have a destination in mind?"

She nodded resolutely. "I need more information. Unfortunately, I'm completely out of my depth on how to manipulate Muggle markets. I've not made it a lifetime habit of swindling people out of money. But I know someone who might know something about the practice."

"Lucius."

"Exactly so." Hermione smiled with satisfaction. With a quick Apparition they departed the school and arrived at the stone gate house of Malfoy Manor.

The grand country estate itself, while a superb example of late gothic revival architecture and truly a sight to behold, hardly held a candle to the beauty of the pristine landscape on which it stood. Perfect sunsets were painted every night by idyllic rolling foothills. Fluffy white sheep grazed in the foreground of the lush green lawn for effect, because the lord of the manor thought there ought to be sheep. Delicate floral notes wafted on the breezes from the formal gardens. In the distance they could see several buildings, including world-class stables, and a swiftly running stream, likely well-stocked with fish. Having enjoyed her fill of appreciating the landscape, Hermione pulled out her wand.

Severus said nothing as the flutter of her spell skittered across the threshold of the estate wards like a pebble skipping a pond. The vibrational magic of generations thrummed under her soft hand. Awed, he watched her probe the family wards using a caress of her powerful magic. Head cocked to the side, chestnut curls falling over one shoulder, Hermione peeled back the superficial layers of warding with her spellwork until the ancient foundation was revealed. They both took a moment to admire the ancestral groundwork, hewn of blood and bone by Malfoy forbearers.

Severus warned her in a low tone, "Hermione, you'll cause panic and terror. The family will Portkey into hiding before you can set foot into the manor."

"Don't worry, I'll be good. I could never do them any real harm, but I'm not above teaching Lucius a small lesson." She bloody well winked at him. "Working at the encampments has given me plenty of warding practice. I know what I'm doing."

"Famous last words," he muttered. Severus reminded himself that he was married to one-third of the Golden Trio. The rule-breaking, detention-serving, caught-out-of-bed-adventuring, Dumbledore-twinkling, House-point-grabbing, Hogsmeade-sneaking, sainted trio. Of course she knew what she was doing. She was the 'smart one' of the trio, which didn't help matters one whit. It only meant that she was more inventive and better researched in her crimes. Oddly, Severus felt relieved to be ready on-site to mop up damage.

Darting an impish grin to him, Hermione raised her wand fractionally, holding the loose tendrils of the grayish Malfoy wards in her grasp, and with a powerful stroke pulled them down. The ground shook with the force of the splitting impact like a lightning strike as Hermione cleaved the surface wards. They fell in tatters, tearing down to the quick… reaching almost, quite nearly to the ancient foundation, which was left in immaculate condition.

"I did it. The original is still intact," she said proudly, lifting her head with a satisfied smile.

"Show off," Severus muttered, too astonished to press her.

With a light 'pop', they were joined by a pot-bellied house-elf shaking a wooden spoon at them as if it were a sword. "Master says you is very bad. Gert must ask what you is wanting."

"Tell your Master that Hermione Granger says, '_Knock, Knock_.'"

Gert brandished his spoon menacingly once more before winking out. A minute later, the gates swung freely open to admit them. Hermione grinned unrepentantly at Severus. She continued to grin every step up the long pebbled drive to the main house.

"All right," he informed her. "But you're going to have to drink to that one. I refuse to take any responsibility." She'd been branded an honorary Slytherin back in school, given her natural _predilections_. But with her new status as his wife, Severus thought she might become more welcome in the Slytherin family. It didn't take a Seer to anticipate a healthy amount of booze in her future.

Lucius stood upon the steps to the formal entrance, and as they came closer, he came out to greet them. It didn't escape their attention that while his dovetail robes were faultless, he had on mismatched slippers.

"Hermione!" Lucius said with forced joviality, bowing courteously over her hand. "How marvelous of you to call. And Severus. I'm so pleased you both seem to be in good health. Please, do come inside. After all, you've only just laid siege to my home and nearly claimed it as your own."

"What a kind offer," Hermione responded sweetly.

They followed Lucius through the foyer and Severus noted that they unnecessarily crossed the ladies salon, men's lounge, and informal dining room before settling into the conservatory. The tour was likely meant to impress his female guest, but Hermione appeared rather indifferent. And whereas Narcissa had obsessively redecorated the manor since the Dark Lord's death, flushing out the lingering gloom of dark magic with new wall-coverings and furniture, Severus noted the conservatory remained mostly unchanged. It was one of the few places the family had found solace. The Dark Lord avoided the conservatory as much as possible. Life, growing, budding up on bushes and vines, pushing through earth to reach the sun in an ongoing process. It reeked too much of metaphors and memories.

Beautiful sunshine streamed through tall windows, bathing a table set with tea and cakes for three. Lucius gestured gracefully and offered to pour. Hermione thought he made an adorable mother. When tea was settled and pleasantries dished around to the point that either someone was going to remark about the weather or get on with it, Hermione set her cup down with a distinct rattle. Lucius bestowed upon her a very patient smile. A better mask had never been created, Hermione thought, than by the Death Eaters themselves.

"Severus and I had a very enlightening conversation this morning." At his interested look, she continued. "Yes, we spoke with Headmaster Black, who was very forthcoming with the details about our marriage and the plotting that has been going on, given he's been privy to much of it."

Lucius' head swiveled back and forth between Severus and Hermione. His voice dropped in pitch, sounding very much like a schoolboy whispering at the lunch table. "Oh, do tell."

Severus snorted. Lucius' fondness for gossip made him a bit of an old woman, but information had kept him alive during the war years.

"Gold," Hermione said simply. "Apparently, dear Headmaster Dumbledore was illegally tampering with the Muggle stock markets to fund the Order and needed a legitimate name under which to do business. He created Hermione Snape to avoid suspicion and conceal it."

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Oh really?" He looked to Severus to confirm it, and Severus nodded solemnly. "Doesn't this just take the prize?" Lucius crowed with delight. "Let's see if I can work this out, there's one for the Statute of Secrecy, another for illicitly tampering with Muggles to beget financial gain, not to mention money laundering, misappropriation, conspiracy to commit a fraud, identity theft, forced marriage, false imprisonment, fatal cursing, and I'm certain I'm missing several other charges." He waved his hand negligently. "Already I've lost count. Isn't this just _perfect!_"

"I'm not certain I share your enthusiasm," Severus remarked drily. He glanced at Hermione. Perfect only described one outcome from their miserable situation.

"Oh you never do," Lucius responded. "But there are _Wizengamot_ members knotted up in this scheme. You _must_ tell me who." The look of pure predatory glee did not go unnoticed by either Severus or Hermione.

"Doge and Snodgrass," Hermione helpfully supplied.

Lucius sat back in his seat, wearing a Cheshire smile, his fragrant tea getting colder by the minute as he contemplated esteemed Wizengamot members losing their beloved seats for deficiency of integrity charges. "Never liked Doge," he said airly. "Stubby little man always had his nose up Dumbledore's arse. Would do whatever that doddering buffoon said without question. I always assumed it was because he lacked for brains, then again I assume that about most people who follow at Dumbledore's coattails – no offense, Hermione. At your sentencing Severus, I believe he voted against you on every charge. Despite all the evidence, he probably still blames you for dear Dumbles' death."

"That was my summation as well," Severus added. "Loathsome little clod."

"But Snoddy is just an officious prick who thinks he's smarter than everyone else. Bloody Ravenclaws." Lucius said sharply. "He's been issuing meaningless requests for documentation to my subsidiaries for years, trying to bring down the corporation on charges of illicit tampering. Of course, we've been doing it successfully for generations," He added proudly. "But they're not going to find incriminating evidence in paperwork. It's bothersome and plebian. Snoddy might as well invite himself over one day wearing an Inverness cloak, deerstalker hat and carrying a magnifying glass. At least then he'll be an interesting bother. He'll never be able to wrap his head around LIBOR."

Pausing to gather his thoughts, Lucius placed a biscuit on the edge of his saucer without actually intending to eat it. "There's something quite poetic about finding out they've had their hands stuck in the cookie jar for years. I have found, and please don't ask for details, that once someone is merrily gorging themselves upon a trough of dishonest gold, it's very tricky to cut them off. And you should also know that Doge and Snodgrass make a handsome bundle in their positions. Whatever funds Dumbledore left behind in that account must be sizeable enough to lure them. Those ugly ducks don't quack for any old bread."

"That's why I was hoping you might be able to help us," Hermione said, choosing her words carefully. "I thought perhaps you would have access to information."

"You're looking for Muggle investments under the name Hermione Snape." Lucius pursed his lips. "You wouldn't happen to know account numbers."

"No." Hermione shook her head.

"Or even a brokerage firm?"

She winced. "No, I'm sorry."

Lucius shrugged. "Consider it done. The boys will be on it by the end of the day and I should have positive news for you by tomorrow morning. Now, shall I break out the champagne? It is an undignified hour, but it's not every day one gets to hear that they're about to become disgustingly wealthy."

With whiplash speed, Hermione turned to Severus, her face slack and unreadable, just as he recoiled in shock. Hermione leaned forward and extended her hand, grasping his. Although they had learned that potentially a great sum of money was deposited somewhere under her name, it had not occurred to either of them that they would become wealthy. Severus held Hermione's steadfast gaze.

"If the accounts are under your names, there's nothing to stop you for taking the money," Lucius stated affably. "It legally belongs to you. You have my hearty congratulations. No doubt Narcissa will be thrilled. She's been lamenting for ages there's nobody worth socializing with at the club."

Almost imperceptibly, Hermione shook her head. Severus closed his eyes in silent acknowledgment. The money was not theirs. It had never been theirs.

Lightly clearing his throat, Severus spoke up as he pushed away his abandoned teacup, "I've no interest in pursuing it. I don't think I ever expected to be wealthy, and I already have everything I need. I'm a rich enough man." The corners of his lips tipped into a slight smile.

"Albus earmarked it for the Order to help the war effort," Hermione said, lifting her chin. "I don't agree with what he did to our lives to earn the money, but I understand the need. If the Order can't use the gold, there are plenty of war relief organizations who can."

Choking lightly for effect, Lucius made a bitter face. "This is exactly why I don't bother trying to be noble. You've cornered the martyr market and there's no room at the top for anyone like me. I shall have to make do enjoying the spoils with the sinners. Disappointing, really." He huffed and dabbed a napkin even though he never took a sip. "So what do you plan to do with Doge and Snoddy? Something wicked, I trust."

"Well, I did have a thought about that, actually," Hermione piped up excitedly.

Two Slytherin brothers arched unexpected eyebrows in her direction. Hermione drew a sharp breath then, and licked her bottom lip. Flushed with warmth, she was suddenly arrested by the sweet wayward thought that they were highly erotic together: dark and brooding, light and enigmatic. Both intense and arousing in the naughty places that deeply sinister and alluring men are, but only Severus could truly make her heart pound. She had fallen completely for the wizard with eyes like smoldering coal, and thought right then she would like very much to leave the manor completely. Severus' eyes lingered on hers on a question, his brow furrowing with a touch of concern. Suppressing a lascivious grin, Hermione lightly brushed her fingertips across the back of his hand to reassure him.

"I don't think I'd like to hurt anyone," she started, feeling skittish under their close scrutiny. "I'm not up to hexing or cursing them in kind, as much as they probably deserve it, I doubt I have it in me." Gaining a full speed, she continued. "I think what they've done is appalling and shameful. The sad thing is, nobody knows but the few of us. And if we have any hope of getting justice, people need to know what happened. Leave them to the fate they deserve, or whatever justice demands. So that's what I plan to do with Doge and Snodgrass… expose them. Yes, it may mean I'll live a less sheltered life, but the public ought to know what Albus Dumbledore and their Wizengamot members have been doing behind their backs."

Lucius blinked. "Airing dirty laundry out in the streets for all and sundry to read? Won't that cause an outrage? I imagine there will be pitchforks in Diagon Alley and a proper witch burning." He hummed thoughtfully. "Unnecessarily Gryffindorish, if you ask me, but I suppose Skeeter will write it."

"Actually, I was thinking of requesting Romilda Vane."

"Oh, hell," Severus cursed, sending his tea spoon clattering across the floor.

"Something wrong, Severus?" Hermione asked politely. "She ought to return from the vacation you thoughtfully sent her on soon."

Severus grumbled something indistinct beneath his breath, but nobody at the table caught it.

"And what was your plan, Severus," Lucius asked.

"Xerxes," he growled, his lip curling in disdain.

"Well, then it should be all settled." Their host grinned in a charming way that was not at all meant to be gentle or kindly. "It shall be blood or blood. Either the public will demand their heads or Xerxes will take it. The carnage ought to be exciting to watch, don't you think, Hermione?"

She smiled weakly, her eyes dropping to her untouched tea. "I think a lot of people have been hurt and a lot more are about to get hurt over a very silly pursuit. If their aim all along had been to keep me away from the Order's gold, I would have been eminently compliant right from the start. I just wish…" Her sigh was heavy, and signaled to the gentlemen sitting in the conservatory that their pretense at tea had come to an end. Lucius nodded ever so slightly to Severus, who pressed his hand to Hermione's.

As they stood to take their leave, Severus nuzzled gently into her ear, whispering words of comfort, "Not to worry, my love. I promise you will have what you desire."

* * *

_Unchecked plotting can lead to fumbles,  
Leaving victims chock full of grumbles.  
Why ask a scheming hack,  
When there's Phineas Black?  
Which is why they ignored old Dumbles._

Limerick by Morethansirius


	24. Chapter 24 Embrace

**Chapter 24 - Embrace**

Peeling apart the curtains of her hotel room, Hermione Granger-Snape (she was trying out the name) was treated to a spectacular postcard view. Fireweed lit up the great mountainsides in full fuchsia splendor; the blue river glittered with the noonday sun. Every direction she looked, her view was breathtakingly gorgeous, not that it explained why they were unexpectedly visiting British Columbia, and the whistle stop town of Lillooet specifically. She had her suspicions, of course. Suspicions which Severus would not confirm. Her grim set husband had worn a hangdog look across his shoulders ever since she'd announced her idea to return their misery to Doge and Snodgrass, threefold.

She'd wanted to reach for him then, to smooth the crease between his eyebrows that had deepened overnight. Before he departed, she tried to kiss him, but he stilled her by muttering, "not until duty was done," and he appeared as strained as the puckered scar upon his neck. Together they had made great strides towards understanding one another, to finding a relaxed comfort in each other's presence, and she'd watched his stiff shoulders loosen. But now… the tightness in his posture had returned. Once again the clipped and secretive Potions master had returned, Portkeying them across the world without a word of explanation. Severus only whispered that she would have as she desired. And those words, more than anything, filled her with shuddering apprehension.

She waited for Severus' return, in the two-room suite that he'd insisted upon. With the king size bed that Hermione had demanded. She turned her attention to the superbly thick folders she was managing. Lucius Malfoy's offhand promise of having his boys look into the matter had given them the coup they needed. The smoking gun, as it were, was presented smartly on bond paper. Setting her hand to paper, Hermione began to chart Arithmantic probabilities and outcomes of their venture. Now that all the variables shone like starbright gleams in her eye, she could finally plot the most satisfying conclusion. Everything would be set to rights. Hermione would make it just so.

The indicators, more potent than any leaf in a teacup, clearer than any crystal ball, were numerically conclusive. Success was within reach, as long as her nest-hunting project remained obscured from the public's eye. The moment her own work came to light, terror would override rational, level-headed thinking. In an ugly battle of public opinion where reputations became boot-scraped smears, Hermione would be labeled as an untrustworthy witch who'd withheld vital, life-saving information from them in order to claim glory for herself. To pull off victory, she had to remain Hermione Granger-Snape, one-third of the Golden Trio. Heroine of the Light. Brushes daily. Flosses regularly. Friend to all.

In fairness, it wouldn't be much of a stretch. Most people already viewed her as such and didn't poke or prod past the façade. They liked their heroines starched and crispy with just enough saccharine to cause a bellyache. She drew the line at singing campfire songs. Satisfied with her preparation work, Hermione looked over the trust documents Malfoy's men had brought to her and allowed her eyes to trail over the numbers again.

Everyone knew the Gringotts exchange rate was inequitable to Muggle currency. And the shifty bastards pretended they'd never heard of a floating dollar. The Goblins paid out Muggle currency to gold based upon the 'Loadstone Limbo Index' – an exchange rate written in lowland Gibberish that had yet to be translated. All things being equal, Albus had apparently wanted to ensure the Order had plenty of Muggle currency and gold, just in case. In case Harry hadn't won, she assumed. In case they hadn't been victorious. In case they needed to flee in the night. Had to restart their lives again. Rebuild a society. She could nearly thank Albus for it. Nearly.

There were multiple accounts in multiple countries, but the principal balance held so many zeros, Lucius' lawyers sent along a creatively worded letter advising her on how to disclose certain facts. And the interest… well, there was enough of that to never have to dip into the principal. As she looked over all the accounts, it did seem like such a shame to cash out the trust. There was so much good they could do to repair the world. The lawyers agreed, although they didn't say as much in those terms. Their advice more or less centered on how to draw attention to the central issue of scheming-bastard Wizengamot members without sending an embossed invitation to the Ministry to gobble up her accounts. Hermione found herself very thankful for the advice.

Her first critical act, a shot across the bow, was to remove all of the esteemed Wizengamot member's names from the accounts. Hermione didn't know how long it would take them to discover what she'd done, but she wanted it to be soon… and expected it would come as quite a shock. In fact, she rather hoped they would piss themselves.

Just when Hermione began to seriously despair of Severus returning, the key turned in the lock. Severus stood in the doorway briefly before ushering in, with a brusque sweeping gesture, a bitter-faced Romilda Vane dressed in casual Muggle clothing. Any hopes for a warm reunion were dashed. Lips twisted in a pouting sneer, arms crossed defensively, and wearing a vaguely murderous look, it shortly became apparent that Severus was discreetly prodding her at wandpoint.

"She didn't want to come," Severus said, stating the obvious.

Eyebrows tilting towards her hairline, Hermione responded, "I can see that."

Romilda grabbed a hotel chair and petulantly sat in it, tossing her curly black hair over her shoulder with a sniff. "You know, I think _she,_" Romilda said, stressing the third person, "is due a lot more respect here, and it damn well better start with an apology."

"Severus," Hermione's voice trembled with warning. "What did you do?"

"He's already apologized." Romilda swiftly interjected. "Like a gentleman. It's you who haven't done."

Severus leaned warily against the doorframe, palming his wand where it lay against his thigh. Hermione's heart sped up and beat against her chest like the wings of a frightened bird. The responsibility of her actions came crashing upon her in a moment of absolute realisation. Her husband, Severus, was not a plaything. He was a genuinely dangerous wizard. Not to be ordered about on a silly whim with made up spy names and amateur plotting. She cleared her throat cautiously and looked between the two, feeling completely wrong footed. It wasn't that she hadn't suggested Severus do terrible things to Romilda Vane on her behalf… and that was wrong. And she ought to be sorry for it, just as she couldn't face poor Marietta without wincing, because she knew about the glamour and she knew what the glamour was covering… But Hermione didn't know everything that had transpired between Severus and Romilda. She'd taken herself out of the equation and wasn't certain if her apology would cover it. Dear god, there were consequences, indisputable consequences.

"I'm sorry, Romilda, that you were hurt because of me. It was selfish of me to wish you harm because I was afraid of the press covering the details of my personal life. I'm a very private person and I overreacted by wishing you ill, and that was wrong. You have my most sincere apology." She held her breath and hoped whatever she said would cover it.

"You're such a bitch, Hermione," Romilda said, her voice trembling slightly as she worked to pronounce her name. "But it's nothing less than what I've come to expect from you. Just don't do it again."

"No, of course not," she replied quietly, feeling infinitesimally small.

Romilda cocked her head to the side, and asked, "So, did you come here out of burning guilt and shame or did you have another reason?"

Hermione flinched. "I need to ask a favor."

"Typical." The reporter with a keen nose for trouble, who could scent a newsworthy story from a hundred miles off, already had her eyes fixated on Hermione's stacks of folders. The one emblazoned with Malfoy's crest had obviously caught her eye. Romilda huffed, and cinched her arms tighter across her chest. "Why should I bother helping you?"

"I can't think of a single reason why you would want to help me, but if I tell you this story, you'll be interested in it." Hermione stilled her breath and waited. Given their personal history together, and those special weeks spent cooped up in a glass jar, she didn't want to hand the story to Rita Skeeter. And had no desire to give it to anyone on _The Quibbler_ staff. They were just as likely to discover that a roving band of Whallootsies had orchestrated the entire mess. Hermione wasn't going to entertain Severus' suggestion of using Xerxes, either.

Romilda's eyes shifted mercilessly around the table. "All right," she said slowly. "But I want all of it. From the beginning; don't leave anything out. And I'm not agreeing to anything until I like what I hear."

Hermione was happy to oblige, with the notable exception of a few man-eating snakes. That was all. She stuck to her script. She worked unseen as an editor's assistant, checking facts in libraries all day, for _Ars Alchemia_ and _Potions Quarterly_. Because nothing made Hermione Granger-Snape happier than shuffling through mouldering old tomes in search of random bits of useless trivia. She was so good at her job, hardly anyone on staff ever saw her. The sun was sinking behind the crest of the mountains when Hermione finished her story. It was a very pretty sunset. Hermione would have marveled at how the golden sun glittered off the Fraser River. But she wasn't looking, nor was Romilda, who had picked up a hotel courtesy notepad to scribble and jot. Severus had slipped off his shoes and was attempting to doze, but like Crookshanks, he wasn't fooling anyone.

It took a revealing spell, which presented quite clearly the hovering curse sigil, before Romilda would believe that portion of the story. Romilda didn't need any convincing to believe Severus Snape had been incarcerated in Azkaban prison. She'd written the newspaper articles about his trial and conviction. As a gossip columnist, Romilda was also quite familiar with all the Wizengamot member's names, including which ones were rumoured to be able to be bought. But the scope of the scandal Hermione presented to her, even by _The Daily Prophet_ standards, was shocking. Several times, Romilda's eyes bulged and she furiously wrote a note.

"Weren't you supposed to marry Ronald Weasley?" she asked in a wary voice.

"We considered it a few times, but honestly, we were very unsuited for one another, and I'm glad it's finally over. Severus and I are much happier together."

"Oh, but could you imagine what they would have done to him if you'd announced your engagement." Romilda painted the headlines with her hands. "_Final Battle Hero Dies in Star-Crossed Lover Tragedy_" She nodded her head emphatically. "That would definitely have been a 'see page two through six for all the heartbreaking details.' And if you'd got engaged too many times… Well, we might have branded you a black widow woman."

Hermione found the way Romilda positively trilled while saying 'black widow woman' truly offensive.

"There's no way I'm coming back to the _Prophet_ to write this." she announced, finally. "Besides, it took them two days to promote that hack Honey Hicks to my desk. But this story is too juicy. Juicy enough that I can sell it to them at twice the price." There was a definitely glitter of interest in her eye. "I'm thinking it's worth a full issue spread with glossies, just to start." Hermione's pained look did not go unnoticed. "So what's with the total media avoidance?" Romilda asked, following her unerring intuition.

"In truth there is no news, and in news there is no truth," Hermione stated plainly. "I prefer my life uncomplicated. And I'd like to stay out of the limelight as much as possible."

Romilda snorted. "Fat chance of that happening now. Are you sure there's nothing else going on?"

The Arithmancy was clear. One peep about the snakes and there would be mass panic on a grand scale. "If there is," she replied sweetly, "You'll be the first I'll tell."

"I will hold you to that." Her voice made it sounded like an implied threat. She sat back, wearing a very satisfied expression and considered the story she'd heard and the evidence she'd seen. "You know," Romilda said, "It's always the quiet ones you've got to watch out for."

"I was never quiet," Hermione responded, her brow furrowing. Her reputation was staked upon her hand-waving and mischief-making.

Romilda waved her off. "That was in school. I mean since then. You've never given a proper interview. Never been seen in public unless at an official function, and even then you're like a ghost and impossible to pin down. I always knew something was going on. And it looks like I was right."

It was in that exact moment that Hermione Granger-Snape resolved to give bullshit interviews and smile for cameras whether she liked it or not. Apparently the subtle art of subterfuge required a lot more smokescreen and misdirection. Romilda took her leave of them, tossing her glossy curls over her shoulders while uttering, "See ya, Hermione." Their parting didn't leave Hermione feeling at peace.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Severus began gathering up their things and readying the Portkey home.

"How did that go? Did it sound all right to you?" she asked apprehensively, picking up her folders. Arithmantic indicators were imperfect, there were always unforeseen elements: Mercury in retrograde, buried grudges, personal whims, fate. The tiniest unknown x-factor could cause everything to turn pear-shaped. Really, it made plotting, calculating and manipulating future outcomes a nervewracking task.

"As well as anything could be expected, I suppose. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"I really want this to work," Hermione admitted. "I have faith that if the people only knew what happened behind their backs, they would want to put an end to it. I have faith that if it were known what Albus and other Wizengamot members had done, there will be justice. I believe that truth is the only way to be free. No more secrets. I've had enough of secrets."

"My faith in the wizarding public is not as unshakable, but it could work," he stated quietly.

"Do you think our project is safe, then?" she asked, the crushing fear of media attention suddenly returning to her in full force.

"I can only assume you're talking about the enormous secret project you're withholding from the populace. Unless you wish to disclose that bit of information in your shining moment of charitable honesty?"

"Not hardly," she deadpanned. "Look, I know when I'm being ridiculous. Do as I say, not as I do. Hello pot, this is kettle." She made an airy nonsensical gesture. "And at the risk of sounding even more ridiculous, I'm doing it for the greater good. But my hope is that I can locate all the nests and destroy them before it becomes a national issue or a source of nightmares for children. Isn't that worth fighting for?"

Severus hummed in a noncommittal way. Sometimes he wondered if civil unrest, panic, tinfoil hats and snake-worshipping cults weren't just the shot in the arm they all needed. But then, that sort of thinking had also led him to get the ugliest tattoo on his forearm, so perhaps he wasn't the best expert on these sorts of things. Hence, he set his mind on planning for two outcomes: finding nests before they hatched to enact Hermione's glorious plans, and secreting some of her lovely new money away in some place tropical, preferably without too many venomous snakes. He had a nagging suspicion that if her grand mission were revealed, they just might need to flee.

Hermione gripped the well-loved catnip toy they'd repurposed into an _illegal_ Portkey and held her hand out for him. Cocking her head to the side, she asked, "Ready?"

Severus stepped closer, taking one of the stuffed turtle's feet, and nodded. With a wave and swish he enunciated, _"Portus."_ There was a strong tug behind their navels and they disappeared.

It was quite dark in Britain when Crooksy got his dearly adored poppet back. Severus and Hermione looked on lovingly together from a safe distance as he nearly sat atop it and carefully cleaned it with a gentle rasping tongue. Once settled that no harm had been done to the baby, he picked it up in his teeth and trotted off, mewling. Hermione fell into Severus' arms, laughing quietly.

She glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze to find a look of such hunger her breath hitched. He pressed a gentle kiss in the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek, his warm hands moving to tenderly hold her backside. When his mouth claimed hers fully, Hermione leaned up on tip toes, her arms scrabbling to wrap around his neck. In the low light of the evening, Hermione invited him into her bedroom and Severus followed.

They lay together as one, their restless breathing calmed, until they drew breath in unison. Severus buried his nose in her riotous hair and confessed, "Hermione, I'm not fond of the hyphen in Granger-Snape. Call me outdated and traditional, but I loathe the hyphen. It puts a separation between us, and I don't want there to be anything between you and me anymore."

Hermione paused, taking his words into her heart and cuddling closer, feeling the warmth of him press against her. The tickling patterns of runes he was tracing on her skin, if Hermione was deciphering them correctly, said something quite filthy. She nodded, brushing her cheek against his arm. "All right, Severus. But move out of the spare bedroom and into mine. It puts a separation between us, and I don't want there to be anything between you and me anymore." She was unable to see his smile, but she felt it against her skin and knew his answer by his passionate response.

* * *

Hermione wanted to get back to work, immediately. Severus insisted she take time for healing. Surely she had some personal leave time accrued and they could spend it together… in bed. As welcome as arguing the case was, and she was quite vocal in her appreciation for the argument, the fact remained Hermione was a creature of duty. He could deny her nothing; her unwavering commitment was a strong aphrodisiac. Severus found his thoughts overwhelmed by a whitewashed garden shed with cheerful windows, a tea trolley, and a fantasy of enthusiastically taking his Hermione on a couch that had romance novels stuffed between the cushions. Clearly, he needed to get a grip.

Searching for a sense of normal, they both went to work. There they discovered two things: Arthur Weasley was utterly beside himself, coming apart at the seams without Hermione to watch over him. Despite his best stiff-upper-lip impression, he was observably not fit to work with snakes. All of his ticks and shakes had returned and his bites were throbbing. The poor wizard was on the verge of a breakdown, seeing Nagini everywhere out of the corner of his eye.

And Lucius Malfoy, the romantic poet at heart, set his favorite pet Potions master to work alongside Hermione Snape in the caverns. Her laboratory was enlarged to accommodate workspace for two. Severus thought it would do nicely, and as his fingers itched to grab hold of the nice shiny pewter cauldrons and put a good patina on them, Hermione sniffed and grumbled about how the Malfoy house-elves had moved everything without asking. He did understand, of course; Severus had long sworn never to use house-elves to pack or move anything ever again.

As her assistant, Hermione let Xerxes out of his cage and perched him freely on a branch while she worked. And upon learning he was about to share with Severus, too, Xerxes was only too happy to assist. Severus was, predictably, thrilled about the arrangement. Particularly when the serpent helpfully offered to watch over his shoulder and count the clockwise and anticlockwise stirring motions he made, just in case he missed one.

Their first day working together, Hermione whispered, "Be nice, and always Occlude first."

Severus grumbled something that Hermione didn't quite catch, but got the gist of.

His initial undertaking was to brew the antivenin that had saved both his life and Arthur Weasley's. From there he needed to work on piecing together the variants to create antivenin for Nagini's offspring. Given their unique characteristics, his original formula did not work on all of them. Severus thought it was the challenge of a lifetime and would earn him his rightful place in the potioneers history books, except nobody would ever learn of it. This didn't bother him much. Most of his finest accomplishments went unremarked to history, except when Potter opened his damned mouth.

Picking up a hank of grayish brown Boomslang skin from his ingredients, Severus smoothly laid it out and selected the exact knife for pairing it. He was just about to make the first score, when Xerxes lifted his head. "Don't use that manky old bit," he chided, his forked tongue surfing the air. "It's past its due."

Eyes sharp as the knife he held, Severus turned and glared at the interference. "There's nothing wrong with the skin. It's perfectly fresh. Mind your own business."

"Take a pass, wizard. I said that piece is all wrong. Must have been caught right before she started to shed."

"And I said, mind your own business, so jog on." He lifted his knife menacingly. He would not take orders from a creature without Potions training and a room-temperature IQ. "Bother me at work again and I will have a new leather snakeskin belt." Deftly slicing the Boomslang with practiced motions, Severus had nearly finished rendering the amount he needed before turning back to the serpent. "How did you know it was a _'she'_?" he asked.

Xerxes lifted his head. "I can smell it." His tongue trilled through the air. "Just as I can smell that portion isn't fresh enough."

Severus grunted and binned the sliced Boomslang. He chose another hank of grayish brown skin. Xerxes said nothing and Severus continued his task. The potion was a great success. As long as he ignored the set of beady eyes hovering over his shoulder, he was fine. Hermione had no problem whatsoever maintaining a constant dialogue with her assistant as they discussed reinforcing the stasis on unhatched eggs. The entire experience gave Severus the strangest craving for python in coconut stew.

"Oh, look," Xerxes said, his voice giddy and delighted. "Lunch! How marvelous."

Hermione turned, a question on her lips, just as a very entitled-looking Golden Owl swooped in carrying a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in his talons. She pouted, placing one hand on her hip and resting another firmly on the counter. "How did…?"

Bored, Severus admonished in a firm voice, "This is what you get for one-upping Lucius in a game of ward breaking." He turned back to his softly simmering potion and shook his head, his lank black hair swinging around his pale face, but that was mostly to conceal his smirk.

The newspaper dropped with a heavy thump on the countertop, and for a fraction of a moment it seemed as though the owl would depart unmolested. Until Xerxes struck at the bird, sailing far from his perch, but only clipped a few tail feathers in his mighty jaws. The owl squawked indignantly as it left.

"So, how was your first real hunt?" Hermione asked, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

Xerxes turned to answer, but only feathers came out in reply. He wrapped himself around his branch, covering his head under a coil in embarrassment.

They unrolled the newspaper and spread it across an available countertop. The entire edition was devoted to them, with the main headline taking up half the front page.

**Corruption, Cursing, Cruelty, and the Clink!**

_Your favorite globe-trotting investigative journalist, Romilda Vane, brings you the most sensational story since the French Snitch-Snatch Scandal. How about a plot so gruesome and dastardly it involves venerable members of the Wizengamot cursing a beloved war heroine to her death bed, sending one of the Leaders of the Light to Azkaban, and forcibly arranging a secret marriage, all in the greedy pursuit of misbegotten gold. Oh yes, dear readers, you heard correctly! Such a news story as this is so scandalous, that I myself have gone into hiding for fear of my own personal safety._

_As you know, Hermione Granger has spent the years since the war trying to put her past behind her. Neither seeking fame nor fortune for her life-saving heroics on the battlefield, she lives a modest life and is the paragon of witchly virtues. For many years now, she's been ever so in love with Ronald Weasley, Quidditch Star. But their love has been ill-fated from the very start. Hermione has recently learned she was forcibly married against her will to none other than the wholly unsuitable Severus Snape! Doomed to a loveless, wretched marriage. And you will never guess by whom!_

The spread on page two had an excellent photograph of Aurors arresting Judge Snodgrass on his yacht. It appeared he was yelling some kind of abuse at the camera. Hermione watched his lips carefully, and made out the words, _Do you know who I am…_ The rest was a blur. Chief Inspector Auror Potter issued a statement about international cooperation and expressed hopes that Elphias Doge, currently hiding out in his Italian villa, would be apprehended soon. Once they'd read it, Hermione placed the pages beneath Xerxes' enclosure.

Severus informed Hermione that the Slytherin Network was shaking its collective head. Given the Wizengamot member's relative fortunes and the amount of money they already collected from bribes, the network failed to understand why Snoddy and Doge would cock up something as colossal as this, but then, there it was. They were already prepared to nominate successors to the court. Forewarned is forearmed.

* * *

Days later, Severus thought he was on to something with the mapping of nest sites. They had just picked up take away from the chippy around the corner when they found three wizards standing outside their door, waiting for them. Severus frowned. The morning paper had featured a rather spectacular spread about how Ronald Weasley was doing since losing the love of his life, Hermione Granger, to this ill-fated marriage and curse (he was soldiering on, bravely), but included a few errant details in the mix. It 'accidentally' mentioned Severus had heroically snuck Romilda out of the country to keep the media away from Wizengamot tampering, and that he'd worked hand-in-hand with Harry Potter. Details that by themselves were hardly relevant, but when personally visited by the Head of the Auror Office and his Deputy, likely meant he was violating the terms of his parole.

Hermione shook her head as she opened the door. "What do you lot think you're doing? This is a Muggle building. Have you never heard of the Statute of Secrecy? Poor Mr. McCorkle, you probably scared him to no end."

They at least had the good grace to look ashamed.

"Important Ministry business, ma'am." The blue robed wizard produced a card.

"Ah," Hermione said, bustling in the door. "So my official Curse Breaker has finally arrived. About time, too."

Severus set the greasy take away in the kitchen and remained silent, trading terse glances with the set of Aurors who'd arrived with the Curse Breaker.

The appointed Curse Breaker smiled broadly, showing off a full set of teeth. "Yes well, I'm happy to inform you that your curse was broken this morning. A matter of paperwork really. I'm just here to verify that the sigil itself is gone. So, if you don't mind?"

He pulled out his thin and swishy wand and smiled politely. Hermione stood patiently as he probed and prodded at the empty air above her head. Humming as he worked, he made a good show of demonstrating that there was, indeed, absolutely nothing. He then gave a pained bow, his smile less jovial, and dashed quickly out the door. Hermione's curse was completely gone. It left them in the room with two very stiff-looking senior Aurors and Harry Potter not anywhere in sight. Tall and imposing, they were dressed in the fashion becoming their position, but Severus couldn't help but think that they looked like little more than hired goons. Bertie Higgs and Tiberius McLaggen had always been Scrimgeour's political lackeys. Higgs gripped his gloved hands together, clenching them in a menacing way that made Severus' stomach react.

"Shall I sort something out for tea?" Hermione said with a tight smile.

"That shan't be necessary, Miss Granger," Head Auror Bertie Higgs responded, his eyes flicking meaningfully to Severus. "We won't be long."

"That's Mrs. Snape," she grumbled beneath her breath.

McLaggen pulled a thin scroll from within his robes. "This here is a magically recorded list containing every spell Mister Severus Snape has performed since his release."

"Oh, I see," Hermione breathed, her voice barely a quiver as it left her body. She raised her eyes to her husband, who was standing stock still and could not return her gaze.

"It's been in the charge of his parole officer, a young Sergeant Fowler," McLaggen continued, his tone clipped. "But with budget cutbacks being what they are, and the department over-tasked, as you well know… He's only recently been able to catch up with it. And what an illuminating read it has been, Mr. Snape."

Feeling dizzy, Hermione needed to sit down before she fell.

Deputy Head Tiberius McLaggen cleared his throat and stuffed the scroll back in his robes. "From our own subsequent investigation, we've concluded that the crimes listed on this parchment were perpetrated by Elphias Doge and Harlan Snodgrass in a crude attempt at framing you for crimes against the wizardom. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I… that is…" Severus stuttered a reply before nodding.

"Precisely our opinion," Higgs said. "Now, as the terms of your probation have been more favorably amended, and you are no longer a class three prisoner, we are no longer recording your spellwork. But I would strongly caution you to comply with the law." Glancing contemptibly around their small flat, he motioned for McLaggen to follow, and they left, swishing out the front door.

The door slammed hard enough to startle them. Severus crumbled into her arms, head and shoulders dropping for support, and she caught him. Hermione picked up every piece and wrapped him tightly in the warmth of her embrace, reassuring him through a gentle touch. They were stronger now, together. And anything the Ministry or Wizengamot threw at them, they could handle. Severus would never be alone again.

The next afternoon, a rather nice ribbon-tied package was delivered via an owl nervously waiting outside their kitchen window. The cats were enthralled. Hermione watched as they chattered loudly at the feathered interloper, their hindquarters swaying as if ready to pounce. She relieved the petrified owl of his package and it flew off without waiting for a treat. Ushanka yowled in disappointment.

The parcel came from the clerk of the court and contained a proposal:

Given Hermione's witchly virtues, their obvious unsuitability as a couple, as well as Hermione's broken-hearted yearning for her lost love, Ronald Weasley, Quidditch Star, and the possibility that there might have been a slight breach of conduct by the Honorable Wizarding Judge Harlan Snodgrass during their divorce decree ruling…

They were cordially invited to return to the Wizengamot, where they were assured their petition would receive a more favorable outcome.

Barefoot and wrapped in her housecoat, Hermione stood in their kitchen and stopped reading the invitation. Reaching his arms around her, Severus snuggled behind her and read over the top of her head.

"I'm trying to think of an appropriate response that doesn't start with, 'Fuck' and end with 'You,'" Hermione told him.

His arms tightened around her and Severus kissed her temple. "Are you really angry about the invitation, or is this about Weasley again?" He could hear her teeth gnash and wondered if he should recite her parents' lecture on bruxism; it led to tooth sensitivity, muscle soreness, joint pain, and could, under extenuating conditions, crack a molar.

Hermione balled up her fist, crumpling the invitation. "You know she keeps putting that bit in about Ronald to get on my wick."

"As you've said." Severus smirked behind her back.

She turned in his arms and faced him with a very determined glint. "And now everyone thinks we're doomed together, and you and I don't fit at all. Worse yet, they think I'm mooning over Ronald. It drives me nuts to think that everyone I know is saying, 'poor Hermione, stuck with that evil git Snape,' just because of that stupid reporter, Romilda."

"You handed her the knife and she twisted it. Be thankful that's all she wrote about you. In this light it makes you appear very sympathetic."

She rolled her eyes. "Anything to sell more issues."

His smile was soft and teasing. In the small kitchen of their flat, they could do this. He could tease and laugh at her and she could melt, her heart giving a small flip. It was outside their walls the illusion began. He was the intractable Potions master who could not utter a kind word, and she was the soft-hearted lioness who only knew books. Outside their walls the people who subscribed to _The Daily Prophet _believed Hermione Snape lived in daily terror, one day hoping she could find a way to free herself and marry her beloved Weasley.

"Stop reading," he murmured. "It's that easy. What she writes doesn't change anything between us. And people would have assumed as much anyway."

Hermione shook her head in wonderment. "How can you be so relaxed? I would have thought this would have got under your skin as well."

"You presume I give a damn what the public thinks." It finally clicked then. The broad and impassive look he wore was an exact copy of his Hogwarts' expression. Coming closer, his hands cupped her face until his lips were right near hers. He exhaled, his breath sweet with tea. "As long as you're mine, and I'm yours, the wizarding public can go hang."

His kiss was warm and languid, heating her up from the inside out. He slid his lips over hers, gently brushing, softly forming his mouth around hers. Dizzy and overwhelmed by the tenderness of his exploration, she could not think of another reason to care about what the Prophet printed. With Severus' arms enveloping her waist, drawing her closer still, the matter was forgotten entirely.

* * *

_With Vane's article firmly in place,  
The judges in ruin and disgrace,  
The gold, still misbegotten,  
Was now all but forgotten.  
In the warmth of her husband's embrace._

Limerick by Morethansirius


	25. The Epilogue - Begin!

**A/N: For anyone hoping for explicit content, there's none of that on FFnet anymore. It's against the TOS. Inquisitorial Squads remove stories. PENIS!**

**The Epilogue – Begin!**

Under a bower of vines, ripe with lush grapes, they stood clasped hand in hand. He was winter personified. Four layers of black, with gleaming jet buttons that caught the light and glinted like the dark fire in his endless eyes. She was sunshine, come to spread her warmth through every icy layer. Her gown was a coppery golden tapestry that was as rich as her smile and as expansive as her glorious crown of amber curls. With eyes only for his beloved wife, the groom muddled through the ceremony. He fiddled with her ring. She threw her arms recklessly around him. The scene played out again. It was their favorite photograph on the mantle. Bonnie Granger had gotten her wish. Mostly.

The next photograph featured Severus looking quite dignified in his Panama hat as he proudly presented to the camera his first catch, a fish only slightly bigger than bait. The Muggle photograph was stationary, which did not detract one whit from Severus' accomplishment. He wore the singular expression of a big game hunter having caught the great stalking lion.

On prominent display was a miniature canvas tent, quite ordinary from the exterior, and a trinket that neither occupant of the small flat was particularly fond of. In fact, they both had ample reason to despise the object, yet they seemed incapable of letting it go because the Snapes took the good with the bad. It tied them together, like healthy morning breakfasts and enchanting Date Nights, their dedication to the Project and fondness for antiquing. The miniature tent also fit right in with Hermione's dogged pursuit of the _'eclectic'_ decorating theme. She was going to ensure their disparate styles meshed if it killed good taste or not. The tent had been on the mantle ever since Severus had moved out of the backyard and into her heart.

In the same room two very lazy cats reclined on the couch, while doing their utmost to shed their wealth of fur. Crookshanks was gently cleaning Ushanka's face and ears when giggling laughter resonated from the bedroom. Both heads whipped in the direction of the bedroom, ears funneling to the sound. They were at it again, making kittens. Crooksy settled down, his golden eyes gleaming. As he delicately sniffed the air, he wondered how Ushanka felt about kittens. Crookshanks was fixed, but stranger things were known to happen to magical cats, and he was willing to make those kinds of sacrifices. Ever so slightly, Ushanka's whiskers twitched in warning. The gesture was meaningless to humans, but it quite effectively translated as, _"Try it, and I will claw your face off."_ Sourly, Crooksy turned to groom himself. The cats deftly ignored the sounds coming from within the bedroom with practiced ease.

* * *

By cool morning light, his inky, heavily-lidded eyes met hers, and she could feel his gaze darken as his breath quickened. Reaching up, she stroked his cheek with a feather-light touch and he turned his head to kiss her palm. He smelled of rich sandalwood and musk, intoxicating scents that lingered on his skin. Hermione nuzzled him, pressed against his skin, and deeply inhaled his scent. She kissed him then. His lips opened gently to her own and she could feel his ardor. Pressed to her, he was beauty and strength. Her husband, a man who'd been set free of the shackles of his past and struggled to find his future. Hermione felt him grow hard against her, very near to where she wanted him to be.

"My love, my love," Severus chanted, his voice mesmerizing. He moved his fingers in achingly sweet whorls. She arched her back. Sensations overflowed.

Her fingers trailed over his chest where sparse black hairs grew around his nipples and led to his flat belly, where a tantalizing treasure trail headed lower. He threw his head back and groaned when she followed the trail to its conclusion. She ground herself against him. He moaned and struggled to catch his breath. Hermione marveled at her husband; he had been thoroughly unexpected and unwanted, but now she could not imagine life without him.

She peered into eyes as black as ebony as he gathered her to him. He was everything now, the past did not matter, their future was beautiful. He was beautiful. She'd never realized how attractive he was until she'd seen him brew, standing tall and powerful in their lab. It took her breath away in a way that it never could have when she'd been a schoolgirl. Severus in his element. In his full glory. A spasm wracked through her, a jolt steaming across her nerve endings. She shivered as he clutched her.

His groans affected her and she started to quiver. Hermione placed her thumb against his lips and traced them; thin and concealing crooked teeth, with a mouth that could deliver sharp reprimand and infinite pleasure. She moved her hand until it rested in the silken inkspill of his hair. Hermione loved the soft baby-fine texture of his hair just before he spent a day working with noxious potions. A sweet spasm of bliss came crashing, sending golden fireworks behind her eyelids. Hermione reflexively gripped his hair and Severus gave a strangled cry.

Hermione gripped his tangled hair and pulled him to meet her mouth in a greedy, fervent kiss. As they parted, she looked at him with a wicked gleam in her eye and asked, "What are you making me for breakfast?"

* * *

Severus was off the hook. He always wore the same thing and nobody held any expectation that he'd change, but Hermione needed to choose her clothing circumspectly. Narcissa had expectations and the Grangers did too. Honestly, it had been a bit of a joke to introduce them and never once did Severus or Hermione think that the Malfoys and Grangers would get along. Hermione forgot that Narcissa was a committed feminist. Severus had no idea George knew so much about wine. And everyone simply adored the subject of horticulture. It was depressing, really.

Her hair was charmed into a perfectly plaited coif. She was presentably dressed in robes that were quite fashionable enough for a Manor garden party and would also meet with her mother's approval. Looking in the mirror, Hermione sighed, wondering if she would ever get old enough not to worry about her parent's approval. She envied her husband, too, doubting that he'd ever spent an eternity standing in front of the wardrobe dithering over what to wear. It didn't take the gift of sight to predict: black with buttons, 50/50 percent chance of white cravat.

Satisfied with the tiny golden rampart lions on pastel rose, perfect for a spring day, Hermione checked her timepiece and gave a small jump. She stuck her head into the spare bedroom that served as their study. "Severus, we're going to be late." He was hunched over his makeshift worktable again, and Hermione gave a longsuffering sigh.

He looked up, wearing the expression of a student caught with a Skiving Snackbox. "Be right there," he pleaded, stuffing a box in his pocket. Hermione gave a quick nod and left. True to his word, he was by her side at the Floo minutes within minutes. A healthy pinch of powder later and they were gone.

Sometimes, when Hermione was feeling uncharitable, she thought garden parties were Narcissa's way of keeping people out of her house. But every time those thoughts rose to mind, Hermione knew she was just being jealous. She considered buying a great big manor house, steeped in history, full of ancient wizarding lore. Why not buy it all? It wasn't as if Lucius hadn't sent property brochures to her office to tempt her.

She scanned the gathering crowd and found Narcissa speaking animatedly to one of the members of the board. Fascinating in ice blue robes, an artful confection of flawless corkscrews, and trimmed in pearls from the coronet on her head to the tiny slippers on her dainty feet, Narcissa was a vision of perfection. Delicate and feminine, pretty. Is that who she was trying to compete with, Hermione wondered? Is that who she was? Her head tilted ever so slightly as she tried to imagine herself in Narcissa's place. She could do the job. Of that there was no question. She could learn all the pure-blood protocols and seating arrangements. She could immerse herself in the full-time job of hostess and social director. Learn to affect business and politics through introductions and charming small talk. Yes, Hermione imagined she could take on such a role with great success.

Narcissa smiled and laughed lightly, though it was unclear at Hermione's distance whether the guest said anything humorous. No, it was better this way, she affirmed. She had what she wanted: a fulfilling life, rewarding work, and a happy home. Occasionally the hot water changed temperature in the shower, not enough to make her pull out her wand, but enough to make her curse beneath her breath. Ever since Severus had taken up his fly-tying hobby in earnest, she'd wished for more space. And more bookshelves. Hermione sighed, thinking that perhaps they did need a bigger flat, eventually. A hand touched her elbow, giving her a startle.

Lucius leaned in to murmur in her ear. "We're going to make an announcement in just a bit, but your father and husband have disappeared."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stream," she answered curtly. She wouldn't be surprised if the salmon were running.

"Ah," Lucius said, his voice carefully neutral. "Of course." He was new to the brotherhood of the rod and reel, but already found rich potency in the Dark magic of killing one's feast. The wooden rod was an extension of his wand arm and with it he was a powerful oceanic god. When he lashed out with gentle mercy at the water's depths, taunting with seductive powers, the fish responded. They came to him. He was their Siren. "I shall retrieve them."

Lucius turned on his heel and fled. Hermione watched him retreat and knew they'd be out there until the sun set. She'd better tell Narcissa she was on her own today.

As it was, Narcissa handled the news with exceptional grace and poise.

"Of course he did, darling. Think nothing of it," she said, looking unruffled.

The announcement was made. Speeches and toasts were given. Narcissa quietly orchestrated the sequence of everything with aplomb, not that anyone noticed her guiding hand, except for Hermione. The board overseeing the integration of Muggleborns into Hogwarts, or HUMP, as it was fondly known (Hogwarts Unites with Muggleborns Program), had met its fundraising goals from an anonymous benefactor. The Malfoys were happy to host the party. Most guests naturally assumed the Malfoys were the benefactors. The only whispering in the crowd centered on how generous the Malfoys had been of late, taking on so many ambitious projects. Narcissa smiled enigmatically and accepted an invitation to tea from a witch who hadn't spoken to her since before the first war.

Hermione mixed and mingled, occasionally keeping an eye on her mother. Dr. Bonnie Granger, who had perfected the art of asking questions of people while their mouths were wide open and she was poking them with sharp pointy objects right where it hurt, was quite adept at holding conversation with magical folk. Every time Hermione looked over, the only thing she noticed her mother was missing was a big bright lamp. The wizards looked just as pained and equally unable to answer. When the Malfoys had started these charity fêtes, Hermione had initially hovered about her parents, fretting for them. Now she never bothered. Her parents were able to hold their own quite well. It almost made Hermione think rational Muggle logic had driven wizards underground.

Guests were leaving. Narcissa set the elves to tear down the party. The three women set off for the stream where the men were certain to be found. Outside the fishing hole, tree branches were draped with robes, jackets and one single black cassock. Bonnie clucked disapprovingly to find her husband's tweed sport coat draped against a tree.

"Midge," Narcissa called sweetly for an elf. The elf appeared. "Please take these clothes inside and have them cleaned. Return when you've finished." She shook her head as they entered the woods. "Boys. They get older and they get prettier, but they don't get any smarter. I remember when I married Lucius. I thought he was _so_ mature." She smiled easily and laughed. "I was _so_ naive. And now here I am, a mature woman, and I'm still waiting for him to grow up."

Bonnie snorted. "It never happens."

Hermione furrowed her brow. Severus was mature, she thought. A grown man. Very mature. Except when he wasn't. Excluding when he was acting childish. And immature. She slid a look to the older women walking to her side. Was that the wisdom of the ages?

The sound of the stream rushed up to meet them. Loud and steady, it coursed through the air, and as the trees parted they saw three men standing in the middle of it. The women stopped.

Her husband was wearing his waders over his trousers, which was an odd sight she didn't think she would ever get accustomed to. Sleeves rolled up on his shirt, exposing nice firm muscles that moved with the playful force of his whip-like rod. Severus' lure sizzled through the air. Back flexing, arms rolling with fierce intensity, he was pure magic.

"Yeah," Hermione said slowly. "They sure are pretty to look at."

A woman snickered. Hermione didn't pay any attention to who it was. Midge set up a picnic at the clearing and the women put their feet in the water. They were ready to grill a fish just as soon as one was caught.

"So Hermione," Narcissa asked casually as little fish nibbled at her toes. "Have you given any thought to what you'll do once your project is wrapped up? Lucius has been telling me you've made great strides to clearing the nests."

Her mum looked up sharply at her with unabashed curiosity. Learning the true nature of her daughter's work had not been well met. They quarreled about it. Not because her parents didn't support the cause, though they weren't keen on their daughter taking risks. They had a difficult time swallowing the fact that they'd been lied to again by their daughter.

Hermione didn't have a rebuttal. She'd kept them at arm's length, fearing their disapproval. She expected they would be far more tolerant of a lowly editor's assistant position than a leader of a dangerous secret undertaking. Not so, apparently. The Grangers felt the split between the Muggle and wizarding world was not so insurmountable that they had to be shielded from everything. From then on, Hermione resolved to be more open and honest. Her parents wouldn't have it any other way.

Hermione watched as Lucius had a house elf tie his line and thought about her response. Closing nests eliminated an immediate public threat, but for them, a whole new world of possibilities opened up. _What could she say?_ She was ready for all the snakes to graduate from their caverns. Particularly after Xerxes had asked Severus, "Who's this Monty Python chap and is he an awfully powerful snake?" The Chorus of Bruces simply had to go. Not that her baritone singing husband discouraged them in the least. Bastard. Their arcane project had yielded more than a lifetime worth of mysteries to research. There was a new strand of magic to investigate. Severus had unique potions ingredients to test. They were thinking about starting a family.

Hermione smiled mysteriously. "Oh, I'm sure we'll find something to do."

* * *

_Now we've come to the last epilogue_

_for the tale of our dark pedagogue_

_Batt'ling snakes not so tiny_

_For his dear cursed Hermione  
_

_He deserves -she agrees!- quite the snog!_

_When they named her as his next of kin_

_He began to get under her skin_

_And the know-it-all fit_

_With that greasy old git_

_Our tale ends; let their new life begin!_

Limerick by Christev

**A/N:**

This story was a work of pure Hufflepuff love, by **christev, mischievous_t **and **morethansirius**. It is dedicated to the Master Plot Mistress, **mischievous_t.** **Mischievous_t** gave the guidance, clear vision and insistence that took this tiny spark of an idea and made it into a story worth telling. Thank you, t. We love you!

**Christev** provided the beta beat-down, wrote limericks and made banners. She was always available on the day of posting for last minute corrections, wibbles and hand holding. As if that wasn't enough, **Christev** beta'd chapters 1-14 from her hospital bed. Amazing!

**Morethansirius** breathed life into the story by fangirling it at the top of her lungs from the rooftops, cheerleading, writing lovely limericks and making banners. Her enthusiasm was infectious and she epitomized Hufflepuff house spirit. Woo-hoo!

And if you haven't checked out **Lastseeninorbit's **youtube channel, please do so. She's very talented and she's done an absolutely fabulous job of recording this story and many others.

**Thank you ladies, I love you and appreciate you so much!**

**If you enjoyed the story please give a shout out to the beautiful Hufflepuff girls who made this possible.**


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